


The Thin Line Between Longing and Regret

by Mondax



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 105,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondax/pseuds/Mondax
Summary: Inspired by tumblweed's fic Transhumance, the story picks up 26 years later. With destiny playing a hand, will Cosima and Delphine take a chance at a life together?  Please read Transhumance first before reading this.





	1. October 28, 1982 – A Wrinkle in the Yearly Sojourn

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Transhumance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794386) by [tumblweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumblweed/pseuds/tumblweed). 

> Hi again!
> 
> This is the other part of my headcanon for tumblweed's Transhumance, which is of course a required reading before you read this. You can find it here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794386/chapters/10972250
> 
> An optional reading for you is my earlier work, If There is A Chance (https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856441/chapters/44754181). You really don't have to read that for you to get this story, though if you want some history behind this story, you can read portions of that work (in particular the chapters with journal entries).
> 
> This story would have at least 10 chapters and I'm posting the first five now. This will be updated weekly barring any personal and work issues. Kudos, comments, suggestions are most welcome.
> 
> Again, to tumblweed, thank you very much for the words and the inspiration. :)

The cup of French Market coffee that I downed in a 24-hour roadside diner has finally kicked in less than an hour after I went back on the road after a proper night’s sleep. While I can be very particular with diner meals and offerings, I have never met a cup of diner coffee that I didn’t like. After all, coffee is vital in long drives like these. It also doesn’t hurt that the caffeine goes really well with smoking – one of my favorite things in the world and a necessary evil for trips like this.

It’s a personal choice on my part to avoid smoking whenever I’m at home in the ranch, or to at least be very discreet when I give in to my nicotine urges. But passing up on cigarettes amidst the freedom afforded to me by the seemingly endless highways seems like a huge waste, so I rummaged for the carton of Belmont Filters that I stow away inside my pick-up for this time of the year as soon as I cross the border. By the time I get to my first pit stop in Idaho to sleep before driving to my intended destination, the first pack is almost empty. 

But what I really love about the drive from Pemberton to Wyoming is how straightforward it is. Yes, it’s exhausting and takes about 20 hours or so to get from one point to the other, but with the exception of the Snoqualmie Mountain Pass in Washington _(which can be dangerous during bad weather)_, the majority of the roads linking these two places are quite easy to navigate and drive on. It also has to be said how picturesque the sights are, with the more dangerous parts of the highway offering the best views. The rivers, tall trees, and green or snow-capped mountains I see in my periphery creates a relaxing canvass that lessens the stress of the drive and reminds me of how lucky I still am to be living in a place surrounded by nature’s beauty.

This is what I tell everybody in the ranch whenever they ask me why I even bother making this trip to the middle of America for new cattle or horses when livestock supplies are easily available a few hours away from home. I tell them about how easy the drive is - contrary to the popular notion that it’s a slightly dangerous, very tiring, and an unnecessary chore. I tell them that getting some cattle and horses from Wyoming makes our ranch’s livestock unique from the other family-run ranches back at home, which has an effect on our profits. I tell them that profits outweigh the costs of the trip – and that we should keep things that way because we get to expand not only the ranch but the veterinary services that we can offer and make an income from.

And all these reasons are true, which is why Scott has always given me the go-ahead to travel every year - not that I need his permission, I call the shots in our ranch after all. But he’s my partner in this and I wouldn’t want him or Krystal to think that I’m squandering ranch resources for a frivolous trip. So in some instances I brought them with me to Wyoming just to reiterate the importance of this place in the success of our ranch. And while they did find the drive to be tiresome, I think I’ve convinced them of the value of these yearly trips and why it needs to be taken. Eventually, there were no more questions raised about Wyoming as the ranch’s books and profits back up my reasoning.

Deep down though, there’s really nothing straightforward about my yearly drive to Wyoming - a trip I have taken since 1973. The real reason behind this yearly sojourn is not related to our ranch’s bottom line or to the expansion of whatever it is that we think would make the ranch stronger or more sustainable. The real reason is grounded on a flimsy idea which reeks of desperation but is attached to the strongest of emotions. The idea that the only person apart from Lyra that I’ve ever loved completely would somehow come back home to her ranch just past Mile 403. And by some lucky twist of fate, our paths will cross again and I can finally tell her the words I’ve been saving for her since the last time we were together. That finally, after all these years, we get to have a chance at a life together – or at least the exploration of the possibility of that kind of life.

“Cosima Niehaus...” I said in between inhales and exhales of my cigarette. “Cosima...” I said as I light another one.

Apart from smoking, saying her name out loud is something I could only do during my drives to Wyoming – a thought that adds more weight to my sadness and regret over how things ended between the two of us. And while ranch responsibilities are my priority whenever I’m here, the very reason why this trip happens every year is her. It would make me happy just to know how she’s doing; to know that she’s well after that summer despite of the words, feelings, and touches that I needed to withhold from her.

At this point, I don’t really know where she is. Last I heard, she was in Florida with her sister. When I’m alone sometimes, I can’t help but think that maybe that is one of the most painful things I’ve done to her. I drove her away from her home - from her roots in Paradise Ranch, from her parents, from the life she pictures for herself, and from the animals that she cared for and fascinated her. Whenever these guilty thoughts run in my head, I remember Ennis’ face when he told me how heartbroken Cosima was when she left their ranch shortly after our summer together - a heartbreak that even her father knew I caused. Of course, these are just a few of the guilty thoughts I have in my heart. I don’t even want to begin unpacking the guilt I carry about hurting Christophe.

But living with healthy doses of guilt never got in the way of daydreaming during long drives about the things I would say to her if I see her again. Yet I know that if I ever come face-to-face with Cosima again – be it here or elsewhere - I would be tongue-tied and confused. How am I supposed to convey how much I’ve loved her all these years? Are there even words that are good enough to earn her forgiveness? How do I even say that I don’t regret my decision and that my only regret is that she wasn’t in my life? How do I convince her to give me another chance when I seem to have made a choice that ended what we had many years ago in their cabin?

How do I tell her that I take this unnecessary trip every year for the past nine years as a way of coming back for her? 

This uncertainty over a reunion that may never happen in my lifetime is one of the reasons why I make it a point to stay in Sheridan instead of getting a motel in Buffalo whenever I’m in Wyoming. Call it cowardice or delusion, but I stay just close but not near Buffalo or Paradise Ranch to insulate myself from the possibility of being more hurt, or worse, causing more hurt. While I would give anything except Lyra to see her again, there is a dread that runs in my veins at the thought of us crossing paths again – I wouldn’t know how she’s going to regard me after all the pain I’ve caused her.

Though the main agenda of the trip is to close good deals at the Buffalo Livestock Auction, the other less-sappier reason why I’ve stayed in the same Sheridan motel every year since 1977 I is because I don’t want to run into people from the past. There aren’t many, but I’m not taking any chances and I’m very careful about keeping a low profile whenever I’m in Buffalo. I don’t want to see or talk to acquaintances who might ask about Christophe, and people who might pry about what happened in the cabin that made Cosima pack up and leave so quickly before gossip about it could even be created or spread.

I certainly wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened in 1976 when on the way to my motel in Buffalo, I ran into my old boss - Miss Violet, who told me that if I wanted livestock I should just deal directly with Paradise Ranch. “Everybody here knows that they have the best sheep and horses. You should know,” she said. “And you have history there, I’m sure you’ll get a good deal – just tell Sarah you herded sheep with Cosima.” I nodded and just said that I’m not looking into buying sheep, but was unable to stop myself from asking how Cosima is.

“She’s an artist now,” Miss Violet said. “Sarah tells me she travels a lot...I wasn’t able to talk to her much when she was here the day they buried old Ennis.” Afraid that my face and expressions might give away what I really feel - enough for Miss Violet to have an idea as to what Cosima and I had, I excused myself and wished her well while I deal with the mixture of happiness and sadness at what I found out: Cosima is out there fulfilling her dreams, albeit without me in her life. 

So it’s easier and less complicated for me to minimize my presence here in Buffalo by staying in a nearby city. And while there are a handful of ranch hands and auction concessionaires who have recognized me over the years, they usually regard me as somebody who lived here for a few years and moved elsewhere because her husband got relocated. I found out over the years of doing this that their vague familiarity of me at these auctions makes dealings quicker and more fruitful for us.

I make my way back to my truck this afternoon after another productive run at the auction’s regular sale where I secured lean cows for the ranch. I make sure to target lean cows that we can feed and raise to be boner cows and being a veterinarian helps in figuring out which of the available stocks are suitable for that. Having some experience in the Montana Department of Livestock also helps in cutting the red tape when it comes to importing livestock. After writing some notes about our new purchases and its corresponding costs, I start the engine and drive back to Sheridan – all the while fighting the urge to make a U-turn and drive towards Route 16 to look at Cosima’s farm house from afar, and maybe even ring the doorbell and introduce myself.

But only 10 minutes after leaving the auction, my usually reliable Chevy Cheyenne just stopped in the middle of the highway. Luckily, there were few cars out on the road and the van right behind me was able to brake before hitting my tailgate. Unluckily though, my car stopped right in front of The Occidental – which means I’m right in Buffalo’s town center.

“Merde...” I say in between trying to restart the car to no avail. After countless attempts, a kind passerby knocked on my window and offered to help me push the car to the side of the road. I then pop the hood, pretending that I know what I’m doing as I inspect what could have gone wrong with my truck. From what I can tell, there seems to be no problem that can be easily identified: it’s not the battery, I just got it replaced; the car’s not overheating, there is no smoke and nothing smells burnt; it’s not the engine oils, I changed that a month ago; and it’s definitely not an empty tank, I just refuelled this morning after driving off from the motel in Sheridan and before breakfast in the diner.

Surrendering to my fate of being stuck in the middle of Buffalo for now, I cross the road and enter the hotel to ask if I could use the phone. While I remember the shop Christophe favors when we lived here, I still asked the receptionist for the number of a local mechanic to tow and fix the car – making it a point to avoid the car shop I remembered. After making the phone call, I decided to wait for the tow truck in the hotel’s cafe. My coffee refill was half-finished by the time a mechanic and his truck showed up.

“Ma’am? Were you the one who called for a tow?” the mechanic said, getting my attention by gently patting my shoulder.

“Yes,” I said to the mechanic wearing a greased uniform with a stitched-on name tag that says that his name is George.

“Well let’s have a look then,” George says as we head out of the cafe and back to the car.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, really,” I replied before he lifted the hood to inspect the engine. “I had everything checked or replaced before driving here,” I continued as he nodded and tinkered with the car.

“Can you start it for me again,” he said the next time his head popped from the engine bay. I do as he told and it still wouldn’t start. “Again, Ma’am,” he asked with the same futile results.

“Ma’am, I think it might be an electrical switch that needs replacing,” George said to me while preparing my car for towing. “I wouldn’t know the bad switch until I get to test all of it in the garage with a volt meter,” he explains.

“How long would that take?” I asked while already trying to figure out how to get back to Sheridan. “Probably a couple of hours to test all the switches,” he said. “But getting a replacement might take a little while...” he said as he looks at his wristwatch. “The parts will come from Billings, so I can promise to get it fixed...tomorrow around the same time,” he said, confident that his estimates seem sound.

“So I’m stuck here,” I mumbled not intending for George to hear it.

“Sure as hell like it, Ma’am. It’s not so bad...” George said while he pulls out a card from his pocket. “You can stay in the Occidental or in that motel nearby,” he continued while handing me the card with his shop’s number. “Do let me know where you’ll be so I can bring the car by when it’s fixed.”

“Thank you,” I said with a nod as he hands me a paper for me to sign and fill in my details. As I do that, George finishes attaching my car to the tow truck and checks if everything holds and are in place. It wasn’t until I was finishing the form and pulling my driver’s license from my bag when I noticed him eyeing me carefully.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he said when I caught him looking. “It’s just that you look familiar,” he explains, “I think I’ve seen you before. I just couldn’t place where...”

I look at George and try to figure out if I’ve met him in my previous life here in Buffalo – when I was a vet assistant in love with another person that’s not her husband. I couldn’t place him but I’m certain he’s not someone from the past because he looks young – probably in his late 20s or early 30s. He’s beefy, and he’s as tall as my Lyra, with light brown hair and emerald eyes. If I were to make a guess, he could be somebody Lyra used to play with in the park that’s just a few blocks from where we are standing.

“Maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I offered in explanation.

“Perhaps,” he shrugs while checking the form I hand to him and checking my license. “Delphine Cormier...” he said as he reads my license details. “Canada!” he exclaimed before handing it back to me. I hold my breath, hoping that my name and origin didn’t ring any bells. “You’re a long way from home,” he said as I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s a good thing your C10 broke down here in town and not in the interstate.”

All I could do is nod – he’s right after all. As much as I don’t want to be stuck in Buffalo, being stranded somewhere in the freeway would have been a trickier situation. I look around and said: “I’ll be staying in that motel,” pointing to the humble-looking inn beside The Occidental. “I’ll give you a call once I get settled in. How much would this cost me?” I inquired.

“Depends on the number of switches that needs replacing but it shouldn’t be that expensive, Ma’am. A switch for your C10 costs around 8 to 10 dollars,” he said while getting into his tow truck. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got this,” he tries to reassure me as he pulls away with a wave.

It was a few minutes into getting acquainted with a motel room I didn’t plan on staying in when I realized that I left the opened carton of cigarettes in the car. “Sacré bleu,” I say out loud to no one as I peer inside my shoulder bag and noticed the lone cigarette stick in a crumpled pack. I wanted nothing more than to just stay in my room until the car gets fixed and eat somewhere near to avoid any more complications. But now I have no choice but to make another unplanned stop.

Before going out, I called George’s shop and left a message to one of the other mechanics about the motel’s phone number just in case he needed to get in touch. I also called my motel in Sheridan to tell them about my car troubles and that they should just charge me for another night. Pretty soon, I was walking into the nearest mom and pop store where a middle-aged woman who I barely recognize is stacking the shelves. Resolved to not leave the room until the car is fixed, I grab three packs of cigarettes, three sandwiches, a cup of coffee, a carton of orange juice, some chips, and a couple of bananas. I was on my way to the cashier when I came across a familiar face in one of the store’s short aisles.

It was a face that I haven’t seen in person for almost 20 years - a face that only comes up in my dreams. Time has given the face laugh lines and wrinkles, but everything else is the same: the dark brown hair I used to lovingly stroke; the lips I used to smother with urgent and passionate kisses; and chocolate eyes that I used to stare at deeply, getting lost in her equally loving gaze.

The only things missing are her glasses and the smile that beams with enthusiasm and warmth.

“This isn’t Cosima,” I think to myself, making sure I don’t actually say it, but not realizing that I was ogling at the woman I crossed paths with.

“Is there a problem, Ma’am?” she asked with a tinge of irritation which snapped me away from remembering my memories of her sister.

Absentmindedly, I hear myself say: “You’re Sarah.” I have no idea whether she heard me or not.

“Excuse me,” she just said, “do I know you?”

“Non...merde, I’m so sorry,” I say while I try to regain my composure. “I was just trying to pay for these,” I say as an excuse.

“Well the registry’s that way,” Sarah flatly said as she points to the cashier. “Ring her up, won’t you Jane?” She said to the woman I saw by the shelves who’s now looking at us as she makes her way behind the cash register.

“I’m sorry,” I say again as we walk past each other. Maybe it’s just me, but as soon as I get to the counter to pay for my goods, I noticed that Sarah was looking at me much in the same way as George did early this afternoon. Before I even consider the thought of approaching her to introduce myself, to divulge everything, and to ask where Cosima is, I hurriedly paid, clutched on my purchases and left the store.

“Mon dieu...” I say to myself as I turn to a corner that would lead me back to the motel and stopped to lean against a wall. “Don’t go back, don’t look back,” I tell myself. “You’ll only hurt her more,” I said as I put a palm over my mouth to silence my sobs.

I managed to get back to my motel room even if I’m sad and seem broken. My life so far has seen a lot of twists and turns - which is unexpected given my penchant for routine and the responsible. The recent turn: seeing Sarah for the first time today, manage to take all the air out of my lungs so I chain-smoke the cigarettes I bought all day and night, hoping that that would fill the emptiness I have felt for a long time. With every stick I light, my resolve to stop complicating the already-complicated strengthens.

It wasn’t until noon the next day when I emerged from my room to meet and pay George. I hurriedly got into my car, barely listening to him explain that it was the ignition switch that became problematic. I say a quick thank you to him before driving away from Buffalo, Wyoming for hopefully - albeit painfully- the last time in my life.


	2. December 21, 1982 - A Day in the Life

I shift my attention from the canvas in front of me to the other side of the room near the main door where a ringing telephone pesters me while I paint. It was Shay’s idea to have a telephone installed here despite my vehement objections to it. Apart from being a source of distraction, I don’t really see the need for it – we’ve been together long enough anyway for her to know where I am most of the time when I’m not at home. And my studio is also only a 10-minute walk away from the gallery where she works - she has a key and she can pop in whenever she wants.

Yet in spite all these, she continued to insist on a telephone - “So you can call me when you’re staying there for the night and I wouldn’t be worried sick about you,” she said.

When the subject of the telephone in my studio emerged again a couple of months ago while she picked a fight with me after I refused her offer to pose for one of my portrait projects, I knew I had to relent so as to appease her. The day the telephone company arrived at my studio’s doorstep was the day I bought my first answering machine. While I couldn’t fight the telephone, I’m dead-set on screening the phone calls I receive from the few people who’s even aware that this number exists.

I glare at the irritating disruption some more until the machine takes care of the caller.

“Hey Babe,” Shay said in her usual chirpy but sensual voice. “I’m just on my way to work. I missed you last night. Do you want to go out for lunch? Let me know, babe. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I mutter back more as a force of habit than as an expression of how I really feel about her. I try to cast away the deeper implication of my thoughts by refocusing on the drawing I’m working on while nursing some guilt, not only over what I don’t feel for the woman I’ve been living with for the past three years, but also over the fact that I’ve deviated from the work I should be doing for my first solo exhibit in October.

I was up all night last night finishing the first of the 26 exhibit paintings I planned: a reflection of a ewe as it drinks from a stream, drawing it from the memory of the many times I’ve herded sheep back in Wyoming, and the image of one of my older sketches. Satisfied with my work, I was feeling good and productive all night yesterday. But early this morning as I drank my tea by the easel, I saw the calendar hanging on the wall in the middle of the small kitchenette and the bathroom door.

“It’s December 21 today,” I say as I push my glasses up and rub my eyes, knowing full well that all sense of productivity I may have had is now gone just because of the simple realization of today’s date. And like a moth to a flame, I finish my tea to set aside the would-be second exhibit painting _(an abstract about being drunk on moonshine)_ and to replace it with a fresh canvas.

For a couple of silent hours, I let the familiar strokes that create an outline of a dandelion conquer the once blank space - all the while thinking that I don’t really know why I keep doing this every year, on the same date, since 1957. It’s definitely more than just a force of habit and I’m guessing it would have been simpler to deal with it if only it were as such.

As I focus on getting the flower’s seeds right, I remember how this all started. The idea of drawing a dandelion every 21st of December was borne out of a conversation I had with my then-2 year old niece, Kira. Back then, I was living in Florida with her parents and when they needed to go out to buy presents a week before Christmas, I offered to babysit Kira – it was the least I could do for her parents. I remember looking out the apartment window thinking how it was a sunny afternoon and it would be a waste of a perfectly good day if we didn’t go out to the nearby park. She was playing in one of the sandboxes with the other kids, and I swear I only took my eyes away from her to clean my glasses with my shirt for 30 seconds tops, but the next time I looked she wasn’t in there anymore.

Panicked, I ran all over the playground, trying to remember what shirt she’s wearing just in case I have to file a missing person’s report to the police. Maybe I should also ask them for protective custody just in case because Sarah will definitely kill me if I didn’t go home with her daughter. All those insane ideas pranced in my mind when I suddenly caught a glimpse of her long, wavy brown hair in a small clearing near the park. She was sitting on the grass, picking out dandelions, and giggling as she blows away its seeds. Finding her in one piece lifted a huge weight off my shoulders - a weight that only a few minutes ago was threatening to break me in half. 

“You scared me back there, Monkey!” I said as I sat down next to her to join her in what seems like the most delightful activity in the whole wide world – at least from the perspective of a 2 year old. She didn’t say anything and just went on to pick more dandelions off the ground.

“Wish, Cosi,” she said with a cherubic smile as she hands me a fistful of dandelions.

It was easy to think of a handful of wishes that afternoon. Ever since I got to Florida, all I thought about was Delphine, so naturally all the wishes I came up with revolved around her. I wished for her health and for her baby’s health. I wished for her peace and happiness, without even thinking about the amount of hurt and sadness our separation had caused me. I wished for her to have the strength to forget about me and what happened between us in the cabin so she can live a normal, life with her husband and child. I wished that I can just turn off all the love I have for her so I can find it in my heart to let her go.

Eventually, Kira got tired from our day out so I carried her home to the apartment while she rests her head on my shoulder and slept. The dandelions and the idea of wishing on them resonated with me - so much so that when I sat down to draw for the first time in months, the image in my head is Delphine surrounded by dandelions gently dancing with the wind. So I drew my first dandelion on her birthday and when I finished that, I made a simple wish: that the time would come when we can finally spend our birthdays together.

I remember how surprised I was at how acceptable the first dandelion drawing turned out to be – even if my fingers got easily strained due to months of artistic inactivity. Given that the last person I attempted to draw was Delphine, thoughts of her made it too painful for me to pick up a pencil and sketch in the months after we got back from the highlands. Every time I tried to power through, I always remember the pain and memories of that afternoon when I wanted to capture Delphine’s glow and beauty – both caused by the life growing inside her and the love I know she feels for me. I ended up holding on to the first dandelion drawing, which I creatively named ‘Dandelion 1957’, and framed it as a reminder that even the strongest of pain can be a source of something beautiful.

Dandelion 1957 is heavy with both beauty and emotional baggage, and conflicting emotions tend to clash inside me whenever I see it. There are times when I look at it and cry, pining for a lost love; and times when I look at it and want nothing more but to smash it with a hammer, angry that I never got a shot at anything resembling a relationship with Delphine. For years, I contemplated about what to do with it - I didn’t have the heart to sell it or dispose of it in another way; but at the same time, I didn’t want to remember Delphine whenever I look at it. So in the mid 60s, I sent it to Sarah who returned to Buffalo to help in the ranch. She ended up displaying it in the farm house. The next time I saw it was when I went home for a few days after receiving word that Dad got really sick. I wasn’t even a little surprised at how it still managed to trigger something inside of me that I thought I’ve already silenced after all these years.

I never said anything about Delphine to Sarah while I was living with her and her family. As far as she knew, I was in Florida because I got burned out from being a farm girl. I was quite certain that she bought my cover – I made sure to pepper it with half-hearted (but half-meant) stories of ennui about herding the same animals over and over again during the summer; and about how painful it is to have a mother that doesn’t even remember who you are. She was kind enough to not press for an explanation when my week-long visit turned into a month’s stay; and the month’s stay turned into seven months of essentially mooching off of her and Cal. 

It wasn’t until she dropped me off at Savannah where I was to live with and work for Cal’s parents when she finally called me out on it.

“Just tell me her name, Cos,” she said while we eat jell-o after lunch in a diner near a park, the tone of her voice playful but at the same time free of judgment.

I tried to play stupid and pretended not to know what she was talking about. “Don’t tell me it’s that Ruth girl...” she added to stress that she knows more than she’s letting on.

“How did you know about that?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I may have seen you come up to her apartment once. I was in the drugstore one night and you didn’t even notice me. So, it’s still Ruth, yeah?” Sarah deduced.

“No,” I said. “That ended a long time ago.”

“So who is it?” Sarah curiously said. “Look if you’re worried I’m gonna break her face the next time I’m in town, I promise you I won’t...Or at least I won’t get caught for it. So out with it.”

I looked at Sarah carefully while I tried to fight the tears from even forming in my eyes. Maybe it was the urge to say her name in public, or the need to tell it to someone else just to keep the memory of the Summer of 1957 alive, but amidst the confusion I find myself saying her name and more to my sister.

“Delphine, her name is Delphine Cormier. She’s French-Canadian. She’s a vet working for Miss Violet,” I added as I taste my own tears.

Sarah just nodded, clearly unsure of what to say or what to do while I silently weep. She settled for holding my hand and saying “I’m sorry.” As I expected, the conversation was dropped the minute we asked for the bill. I needed to get my shit together after telling her about Delphine so I left her for a bit while she paid for our food to use the washroom. 

I thought that was the end of our discussion about why I’m suddenly out of Paradie Ranch, but when we got to Cal’s childhood home, she gave me what is perhaps the tightest, sincerest hug she could ever muster before driving back home to Florida.

“I love you no matter what, you know that yeah?” She said and I nodded. “I don’t give a bloody crap if you’re queer,” she whispered in my ear, careful to not let Cal’s folks here my secret. “You’re my sister and I don’t want you getting hurt. That’s all that matters to me,” she said when she lets me go.

And that was the moment when I regretted ever thinking of Sarah only as my selfish twin sister who couldn’t wait to get out of Buffalo and run away from her responsibilities in the ranch and our family.

“I love you no matter what too,” I said as she breaks our embrace to wipe away my tears. “I’m sorry if we never saw eye-to-eye all these years,” I added as Cal’s parents looked on and re-assures Sarah that I would be treated well while I was there.

Perhaps it’s a twin thing, but even if we’re miles apart, I think Sarah can sense the longing and regret I feel about Delphine. Over the years, I’ve told Sarah bits and pieces about her and about our summer in the highlands. There have been a handful of times when she asked me over the phone if I still think about Delphine - a euphemism for _“Do you still love her?”_ I always meet her question with silence, and the silence is enough for Sarah to know my answer to her question. But I remember this one particular phone call in 1978 before I moved to San Francisco when she asked me the same question and I gave my usual non-response. I was quite surprised what she asked me next.

“Why? After all these years? Aren’t there others?”

“I don’t know why,” I remember telling her. “I guess you never forget the first person you gave all your heart to...the first person you imagined to have an entire future with...I can never let go of my dreams of a life with her. I still see her everywhere even if I don’t want to...”

I allowed myself to swim in all these thoughts, finding it easy to finish this year’s Dandelion faster while I sink in to the intertwined memories of Buffalo, Florida, and Savannah. I realized I have yet to call Sarah about her invitation to go home this year for the holidays. I was halfway done with Dandelion 1982 when the phone rang again. As always, I choose to ignore it and let the machine do its work.

It’s Shay again.

“Babe! Pick up!” She said to the machine, understandably bothered that I haven’t returned her earlier phone call.

I walk a few steps across the small studio to pick up the phone, annoyed that I even have to pull myself away from what I’m working on. “Hey Babe,” I said, trying to hide the annoyance by pretending I just woke up. “So sorry I didn’t hear your call earlier, I slept through it,” I reasoned, lying through my teeth.

“I figured as much,” Shay snappily replies, not even trying to hide her irritation at being ignored. “Are you hungry? I can swing by and bring us some lunch?”

While most of the time I don’t mind when Shay comes over to check up on me while I work, today is different - the Dandelion drawings are too personal. I don’t even want to entertain the possibility of answering whatever questions she may have about it, nor do I even want her to know that I am drawing it. We may be in a relationship, but I think I’m still entitled to a few secrets of my own.

“You know what,” I said, “I’ve been locked up here since last night and I can use some outside world vibes. Why don’t we have late lunch at Zuni’s? I’ll call for a reservation and I’ll meet you there. How’s that sound?” I counter-offered.

“Even better, babe,” Shay replied - whatever annoyance she had over the missed call gone at my suggestion for an impromptu date. “Call me and tell me what time we should be there. I love you!”

“Yup, will do. Love you too, bye.”

As soon as I put down the phone, I looked for the number of the restaurant on my desk. I found it immediately and quickly dialled it and got a reservation for two at 3 p.m. I called Shay’s office but was told that she’s speaking with an artist’s agent so I left a message about our late lunch and reservation. With all that done, I went back to my work. I looked at my wristwatch casually resting on the pull-out bed – it’s just 11:50, I still have time to finish what I started. 

I sink back on my chair by the easel and decided to make Dandelion 1982 simpler than usual: settling on drawing three intricate stalks instead of a field of it as a wind blows to carry away its seeds. I let my hands do the work and I allowed my heart to dictate the direction of the sketch. The final product looks a bit basic: it’s all black and white and I’m probably going to erase it as soon as I get back from lunch. But for the moment, I look at what I have done and I don’t even bother stopping my tears from falling as I blink. 

“Happy birthday, Delphine, I wish that wherever you are, you’re well and you’re happy,” I said as I remove my glasses and wipe my tears with the sleeve of my shirt. I get up from my desk, grab an old cardigan and put it over my shoulders as I look outside my window to nothing in particular. “I think it’s my lot in life to never forget you,” I added as I imagine Delphine at the building’s doorstep, waiting to be buzzed in by me.

“I love you,” I whispered while looking into the space where I imagine she would be, silently surrendering to the emotions I make sure to suppress every day, except today. “I know I always will,” I calmly added in contrast to my desperate pleas and wishes that somehow, someway, exchanging those three words can still become a force of habit between me and Delphine.


	3. March 9, 1983 - Birthdays

The urge for a cigarette whenever I’m home in the ranch always inconveniently hits me at dawn during that small pocket of time I have reserved entirely for myself. I feel it around the same time when I let my mind wander to my many thoughts of Cosima. The urge and fixation emerge right at the moment when I’m already wide awake but I choose to stay a little while on my bed – allowing myself to relish the remaining minutes when I’m not yet encumbered with the numerous chores waiting for me as soon as I put on my work boots and step out of the house.

During this hour when everybody’s still asleep and nobody will notice, it’s very easy for me to give in to my cravings. And while I can disregard them most of the time by just simply thinking about all that needs to be done within the span of a work day, today is different. Today, I don’t spend the extra half hour snuggled in bed. Today, I immediately get up to open one of my windows, to sit on the perch, and light a cigarette. I make my smoking methodical and precise, making sure that I would have time to squeeze in another stick or two.

While today is a very special day – it is ma poulette Lyra’s birthday – there are many things to do in the ranch before I can call it a day and celebrate. Finishing early today is a must because I have to go to the city to have dinner with Lyra and her boyfriend, Seth. I check my watch for the time and realize I only have 15 minutes to dress up and prepare, so I greedily sucked on my third cigarette before flicking the butt as far away from my window as possible.

The first order of business today is to check the ranch’s perimeter fence with Mark - Scott and Krystal’s son. He told me last night that some parts of the fence need reinforcement because the foundations have either rotted due to the weather and old age, or have been partially dislodged because of erosion. While we often leave Mark in charge of infrastructure repairs, the portion of the fence that’s problematic is located near a popular hunting ground for black-tailed mule deer, wolves, and cougars - which means we would have to talk with the ranger to coordinate repair schedules and ensure the safety of our ranch hands doing the repairs during hunting season. 

I go downstairs and make coffee before putting on my boots and getting a thermos. I just got on the porch, setting the thermos filled to the brim with black coffee on a wooden chair so I can wear my jacket, when I see the headlights of Mark’s truck approaching the house. Mark, like Scott, is always prompt – arriving 10 minutes before our agreed time of 4:30 a.m.

“Good morning,” he said as he gives me a polite hug. “Ready to go?” I nod and get in the front seat as he puts the car on gear.

I offer Mark a cup of my coffee which he declined by pointing to his own filled-up thermos at the floor of the truck. I’ve watched Mark and his younger sister Gabi, grow up, make mistakes, and become the people they are now; and because of that, I treat them as if they are my own. Over the years it’s easy to notice that unlike his sister, Mark is more reserved, always choosing to focus on the work at hand instead of chatting – which I think is the perfect temperament for a rancher.

Even as a child he was quiet and maintained a small circle of friends in school, many of whom he is still friends with to this day. But once you get past his stoicism, it’s easy to see that Mark has always been a kind and gentle boy, protective of Gabi and - by extension - of Lyra. He didn’t mind tagging along with them and their friends when we only permit them to go out if Mark chaperoned. I think in a way, he didn’t mind because he genuinely enjoyed his sister’s and Lyra’s company. And it no longer came as a surprise to us all when he asked them both to be bridesmaids when he got married to Gracie, the daughter of a local preacher, two years after the girls went off to college.

I was taking my first sip of coffee, remembering how Mark often got caught in the crossfire whenever Gabi and Lyra are having one of their usual petty misunderstandings, when he began to speak.

“Big day today,” Mark said with a grin, “Lyra’s 25th”, he added as he makes a sharp turn to a narrow and unpaved road which happens to be the shortest route to the perimeter fence site.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to the city later this afternoon, nothing fancy – just a dinner. The one this weekend is the bigger deal. You and Gracie are coming by yes?” I asked, though I already know they’ll be there.

“Yes,” he answers as I predicted. “Gracie was just asking me if we should bring anything...”

“Bring the kids,” I said with a smile, “Lyra misses his godsons.”

To this, Mark nodded and smiled, while he shifts his focus back to the road ahead. He navigated his way over a particularly slippery part of the farm road before speaking again.

“If you don’t mind, can you bring over our gifts to her later?” He asked. “I know how difficult school has been for her and it might cheer her up a bit if she has more gifts to open on her actual birthday.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I think that would be lovely,” I said, not surprised that Mark knew of Lyra’s difficulties in juggling her continuing pursuit of her post-graduate degree and her new job in a pharmaceutical lab.

“Thanks,” he said as he pointed to the backseat while keeping his eyes glued to the front. “The one in yellow wrapping’s from me and Gracie...the smaller red box is from Gabi – I just picked it up from the post office yesterday afternoon,” he said as we arrive at the site of the damaged fence.

Call it a mother’s intuition but I’ve always suspected that all is not well between Lyra and Gabi ever since their prom night many, many years ago. Pre-prom, those two were as thick as thieves: inseparable; always comfortable in their own little world; undeniably happy in each other’s company; and obviously bringing out the best version of each other. Post-prom, although they are still close and seem to be genuinely happy to catch up and see each other whenever they’re both here at the ranch, something’s clearly missing – I just couldn’t put a finger on what it is exactly. But I know that whatever happened during prom night was enough to shift the dynamics between them.

I figured at first that it’s just the distance doing a number on their friendship – a distance they suddenly have to deal with, and a distance that actually took us all by surprise. We were expecting both girls to attend UBC for college, but post-prom, Gabi decided at the last minute to enrol in U.C. Berkeley instead. We didn’t even know she applied there and she said she kept it a secret until she was sure she was going to get a scholarship. Now, I’m not so sure anymore if it’s just the distance, and while I want to ask Lyra what happened, I’ve chosen to give her the space and privacy to deal with it. I’d like to think I’ve raised her well - enough for her to figure out the complicated intricacies that come with everyday adult life.

I look at Mark at the driver’s seat as he stifles a yawn and takes a swig of his coffee. Maybe he knows something I don’t know.

“How is Gabi? I take it she’s not going to make it for this weekend?” I asked while we wait in the car for the ranger to arrive so we can inspect the damaged fence together. I know Gabi is currently taking a break from completing her master’s and that she’s travelling all over the States. I have an idea of what her itinerary looked like because Krystal talks about it a lot, but I don’t exactly know where she is at the moment. 

He looks at me, as if trying to figure out where this particular conversation might lead to. “She’s in the East Coast right now – Boston – based on the postage stamp of her gift,” he said to my slight surprise because Boston was not part of her plan as far as I know. “I think she wants to be here,” Mark continued, “it’s just that she didn’t expect to be that far away from Pemberton this time of the year.”

I was ready to drop the topic for now as I caught a glimpse of the ranger’s truck from the side-mirror, but what Mark said next came with an uncharacteristic hint of emotion that I can only sense to be a show of concern.

“I think Gabi met someone.”

\-----

The ability to be fully awake and functional way before dawn is usually not in the wheelhouse of a typical artist. The stereotype of artists as night owls who paint all night and sleep all day is a stereotype for a reason – it’s because it’s usually true. I’d like to think I’m an anomaly to that norm. Having grown up in a ranch gave me a body clock that has been fine-tuned to wake up and function even before the sun rises. And while it’s been ages since I last visited Paradise Ranch, rode horses, or herded sheep, I still wake up at 4 a.m. every day like clockwork - as if I’m ready to start milking cows after my first sip of tea or coffee. I guess it’s true what they say – _‘you can take the girl out of the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the girl.’_

But getting up in this hour has its perks. I’d like to believe that it gives me a unique perspective of the world - seeing with my own eyes how the city comes to life as morning breaks. It also gives me precious time to be alone with my thoughts. Whenever I think about what my life would look in 10 years time, I usually remember Delphine and the naiveté-tinged dreams I had – _still have if I’m honest_ – for us. At this hour, the sullen tone of my thoughts about a long lost love is countered by a feeling of comfort: that somewhere in Buffalo, Wyoming, somebody’s awake too.

I usually call Sarah around this time to check up on her and her family. While I don’t know why she said yes to running the ranch in the first place (we could have just sold it to Paul Dierden in ’75 shortly after Dad died), I would always be grateful for her decision and for whatever pushed her to take on that big responsibility upon her shoulders. Come to think of it, it’s ironic and quite funny how the roles have been reversed. Everybody always thought that I would end up with the ranch because Sarah has skipped town to carve a different life somewhere else. I don’t even bother asking Sarah about what people in town have to say about that.

I tiptoe out of the small bedroom so as not to wake Shay to go to the kitchen and heat some water for my tea. With a mug in hand, I walk to the living room and dial a familiar telephone number.

“Happy birthday, punk!” I said enthusiastically to Sarah - the unlikeliest person to be a rancher, as soon as she picked up my call after only a few rings. 

“And a happy fucking 50th birthday to you too, geek,” Sarah retorts, most likely with a smirk at the fact that we have suddenly become this old.

“Hey, no numbers,” I said. “Besides, I don’t feel 50 – do you?” I asked in a hushed tone. 

“No,” Sarah replies as I hear her walking around the farm house – most likely to get to the recliner in the living room, “I feel like an arthritic 70 year old – dried up and bone tired from herding sheep and scooping cow pies out of the barn,” she jokes.

But jokes are usually half-meant and I know that Sarah longed to go back to Florida with Cal so that they can enjoy a slower-paced life together. She can actually already do that – Kira has grown up to be quite good in the ranch. I don’t know what’s holding her back though, and knowing my sister, she won’t tell me why even if I repeatedly ask unless she’s ready to talk about it.

“That’s not too bad,” I replied, “and I’m pretty sure that the sheep, horses, and the cows are afraid of you anyway and they will do whatever you command them to do.”

My lame comeback received its much-deserved lukewarm laughter. Sarah cleared her throat and probably took a gulp of her coffee before speaking again. “Cos, I have something I’ve been meaning to tell you...”

Maybe she is ready to go back to Florida. “What is it? Are you okay?” I asked.

“No,” she said before clarifying, “I mean, yes – I’m okay. It’s not about me. I think I may have run into your girl a few months ago.”

I hear what she said but the words don’t sink in immediately. The confusion has gotten me tongue-tied and Sarah took my silence as her cue to explain what happened.

“It was just last October,” she said. “I was at Jane and Stuart Martin’s store downtown. She saw me. And the way she looked at me – how her face started out happy and hopeful, only to turn sad and guarded when she realized I’m not you...I didn’t figure it out immediately, but then she said something in French, and it just clicked you know – that’s her, that’s Cosima’s girl.” 

“That’s impossible...” I said, denial being my choice of initial reaction. “Why would she be there in the first place? And you don’t even know what she looks like. That person could be just a random tourist who happens to know French. You know, it’s a pretty common language - 1 in 5 people speak it,” I sarcastically remarked with some frustration.

“I’m sure it’s Delphine,” Sarah calmly said as my hand instinctively goes over my mouth in shock.

\-----

The early morning talk with the ranger went well. Mark has pointed out all the fence’s weak points and I reasoned with the ranger about the need for the ranch to get this fixed right away, lest we want wildlife or squatting problems that can complicate both our jobs.

Luckily, the ranger who met us this morning – Jimmy Simon – has a brother who worked as a ranch hand for us a few years back. Familiar with what the ranch does and the people running it, he gave us two months to get the fence fixed and he promises to cordon off the problem areas from hunters and campers during that time. After our short meeting, I asked him about what his brother Taylor is up to now and he was quite proud to say that he now works in an oil rig in Calgary. We shook hands after exchanging a few more pleasantries before Mark and I drove back to the ranch.

On the drive back, I was waiting for Mark to expound on what he just told me - that Gabi has met someone during her trips, someone important enough for her to miss Lyra’s birthday. “It’s just a hunch,” he says and knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get anything more from him about it, I dropped the subject for now. It’s not really shocking – Gabi is a pretty girl, exuberant, and very intelligent; and like Lyra, she seems to have no problems landing a date. But what Mark seems to be getting at – that his sister might be beginning a serious relationship - is news to me. I’m sure Lyra knows more about it so I’m just going to ask her later and give Mark some peace while he drives. 

The second thing on the checklist for today is to examine the new cattle stocks from Wyoming and see how they’re adapting to their new home here in our ranch. I ask Mark to drop me off in one of our barns made especially for the Wyoming cows as he makes his way to the paddock to meet a few of the ranch hands about managing grain supplies. The task is rudimentary but mind-numbingly tedious because of its repetitive nature: take the cows’ vital statistics, body dimensions, weight, temperature, and examine their overall health; double-check vaccination schedules and records; and make sure to record everything to have accurate running data which can be used to compare current stats with last month’s for identification of struggling livestock. If needed, I might call in Andy – the guy in charge of feeding the new batch, and ask him more about the struggling cows.

Apart from a couple of cows that are a little short on the withers side, everything seems to be in order – nothing that continuous feeding, vitamins, and scheduled booster shots won’t be able to fix in a few months. I was in the middle of checking and updating the new cows’ vaccination schedules when Krystal popped in from seemingly out of nowhere.

“Heeey Del!” Krystal said as she enters the barn with a couple of sandwiches and two glasses of sweet tea on a tray. “I brought us lunch, well, breakfast for you but lunch for me,” she exclaimed as she sets it down on a stack of wooden pallets.

“Thank you,” I said, relieved that I didn’t have to pause my work to prepare my meal. I can say without a shred of doubt that Krystal is the closest thing I have to a best friend. A frustrated beautician, she had no choice but to move to Montana in the late 1950s when her mom sold all their belongings in California before re-marrying a farmer who lived in Helena. Pretty soon, she met Scott in the local library where he was reading the latest research on the prevention of bovine fog fever. Krystal was there because she badly needed to use a restroom.

The cliché ‘_opposites attract’ _is a cliché for a reason –it’s because it usually happens in real life. In spite of having no common interests, Scott the Scientist and Krystal the Beautician hit it off almost immediately after Scott pointed Krystal to nearest library restroom. They got married only a few months after their first date, and from the looks of it, they seem to be in an adventure ever since. I became friends with her when Scott – then my colleague in the Montana Department of Livestock, brought her in one of our office gatherings.

I join Krystal who already pulled out one of the metal stools in the barn to sit by the pallets. I grab one of the sandwiches and began to dig in when I noticed something’s wrong. I open the ham and cheese sandwich she thoughtfully prepared for me and notice that the cheese slice still had its plastic wrapping on it. “Whoops,” Krystal sheepishly said, “sorry about that.” I didn’t really mind chewing and spitting out some plastic– it’s the thought that counts.

In the many years that we’ve known each other, I can say from experience that being her friend has its fair share of boons (excellent beauty tips, never having a dull moment in her company, loyalty, and thoughtfulness, among many others). But to balance it out, being her friend also comes with a few banes. She has a tendency to talk your ear off about anything and everything that’s happening in her life – which can somehow become a test of patience especially on days when you have so much to do or you just want to be left alone. She also likes to _“experiment”_ when it comes to cooking, which results to questionable culinary creations that poor Scott has to eat - the most recent of which is beef and bell peppers slathered with peanut butter that she claims to be a Thai dish. She was very thoughtful to send a tub for me to have a taste (and as per Scott’s advise, the Tupperware is somewhere in the fridge - untouched and still sealed).

And the worst friendship bane of all – she likes to play matchmaker for me.

“I just spoke to Howie. He said you were enchanting and he was asking me why you never called him back for a second date,” Krystal said in between sips of her sweet tea. “I said ‘I don’t know, Howie, let me ask Del’. So why didn’t you call him?”

It has been Krystal’s hobby to find me a boyfriend a few years after Christophe passed away. I found it intrusive at first – “I really don’t see myself falling in love again,” I told her the first time she egged me to show up for a lunch date with the divorced brother of a hair stylist she works with whose name I have already forgotten. Repelling her only made her more dogged in her pursuit, so I just let it happen over the years. And though there were a few men she set me up with who were nice and gave me a good time, no second dates ever followed.

The latest “match” she found for me – Howard ‘Howie’ Andersen, a widower and the father of the town’s local dentist, was the perfect gentleman during our dinner date. He’s a retired architect who enjoys fishing and hiking in his spare time. I gave him a polite kiss on both sides of his cheek at the end of the date when he walked me to my door. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have done that because while I was merely saying goodbye _(forever)_, I think I led him on enough for him to believe that a second date is in the cards.

“I’ve told you - I really don’t see myself falling in love again,” I say to Krystal, _‘because I’m still holding on to someone’_, I thought, finishing the sentence in my head. 

She just shrugged and drank some more tea at my half-truth of a reason. “Who said anything about love? But you know what Hon, that’s okay. He’s a little too old for you anyway. I have someone else already lined up,” she said with a knowing smile paired with an excited series of claps.

“If you thought he wasn’t a good fit for me, why set us up in the first place?” I asked as I chew my sandwich.

“I don’t know – I’ve been pairing you with guys our own age since ’76,” she said complete with her trademark eye roll. “So I changed it up a little bit with Howie – maybe an older guy would do the trick. Guess I was wrong,” she deadpanned.

“Please don’t tell me you have a younger guy up for me next,” I said, almost spitting out the morsel of ham in my mouth at the ridiculousness that my supposed friend wants me to participate in.

“Good intuition!” Krystal replied to my horror with a Stepford wife-like smile. “His name is Robert he’s gorgeous, he’s a realtor and he’s never been married. He just turned 35 last month.”

I shake my head and couldn’t help but snicker out of disbelief and slight amusement at what my oldest and dearest friend expects me to do.

“I’ll take your laughter as a yes!” Krystal said. “How does dinner next Friday sound?”

“I think I’m going to be busy that day,” I said, with nothing else to do but laugh at my endearingly insolent friend.

\----- 

What was supposed to be a cheeky birthday phone call to rib my sister about our age and to ask her how she’s doing turned out to be one the tensest conversations we’ve ever had since our phone call about Dad’s failing health years ago. The chances of Sarah bumping into Delphine in Buffalo are slim to none and my mind refuses to believe it. I could think of no possible reason for her to be back in Buffalo in the first place.

But what my mind refuses to consider goes against what my tender, sentimental heart craves for – information and news about her. My heart wants to know anything and everything about what my sister saw one ordinary October afternoon when she innocently went to a store to buy mints to soothe the beginnings of a pesky headache before driving home to the ranch.

“What did this person even look like?” I asked in a voice that’s barely audible as my hand over my mouth muffled the sound a little.

Sarah was quiet on the other end of the line. Sensing my pain and confusion over what she’s telling me, she’s probably carefully choosing her next words. “She seems a little younger than us. Very beautiful, quite tall, svelte, ivory skin. Big pretty eyes – they look brown-green to me. Blonde straight hair. She has a beauty mark at the tip of her nose and under her lips. Does that sound like her?”

“She has blonde curls. I don’t think that’s her,” I hear myself say, not so sure anymore if my shaky and faltering voice is speaking for what my mind thinks or what my heart feels. 

“Well I’m still sure it’s her,” Sarah said.

“How can you be so sure?” I scoffed.

“A few days after seeing her,” she started saying slowly, “I went to see Miss Violet in her clinic – you said she used to work for her, right? She told me that Delphine has shown up a lot in Buffalo over the years – she’s a fixture in those monthly livestock auctions just outside the town center. She thought I was asking about her because she’s going to buy sheep from Paradise.”

“And Miss Violet knows this how?” I pressed.

“She heard from her regulars about the familiar-looking out-of-towner who buys cattle every year, around September or October. And Miss Violet saw her herself at the auction once.”

I stay on the phone but I cannot find the words to say to my sister. Last I know of Delphine, she, Christophe and the baby moved to Montana in the 60s. And apparently, Dad had known where they live for quite some time before he gave me their Helena, Montana address while on his sickbed.

“Hello? You still there?” Sarah said over the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” I say.

“Where do you want this to go?” Sarah asked.

The last time I had a solid lead about her whereabouts, I allowed my heart dictate matters by going to that address a few days after Dad’s funeral - only to find that the house is already occupied by a different family. I grasped at straws then, trying to figure out where they could be, until there was no other way for me to go but to give in to the gloomy reality that perhaps Delphine and I getting together again is never in the cards. 

Is this the break in the clouds that I only let myself hope for on that day of the year when I draw dandelions for her? If so, do I let my heart take the wheel again? Or should I be smarter, more practical about this.

“Could you find out more?” I ask Sarah while I rub my temples as I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“I’ll try, Cos,” she said before saying goodbye to check on the herd. Her timing couldn’t be more perfect as I can already hear movements coming from the bedroom.

I was still looking at the phone when I hear footsteps approaching. “Come here, birthday girl,” Shay said with a come-hither look in her eyes as she stands on the short hallway with nothing but a blanket wrapped around her body.

I take her hand and let her lead me back to bed to undress me. I give in to the urge to momentarily forget and get distracted from what Sarah told me. Yet while I’m right in the throes of it with Shay, I find myself unable to shake off the image that it’s Delphine who I am making love with this morning.

It takes every ounce of my willpower to not say her name as I came.

\-----

The last major task for this day is a quick ocular inspection and meeting with Scott about the space in the ranch where we are to open a small animal clinic. The clinic is meant to kill two birds with one stone: we get to have a facility for our animals and livestock, while also making extra income by offering veterinary services to the other ranches and farms in the area. While there is a local vet nearby, he often asks us for help when it comes to treating farm animals because he specializes in domestic animals. And if we’re not available, the local vet often calls in another vet with a clinic a couple of hours away from here. With both of us being large animal veterinarians, it’s a no brainer to put this facility in the ranch - we were just waiting for our finances to allow this project.

With the fence problem needing urgent attention, Scott and I were concern about the timeline of the clinic project. “If we give Mark three ranch hands for the fence, we’ll be left with only four people here – and only two of them have carpentry skills,” Scott said while pacing around what would be the future clinic exam room.

“We only have two months to fix the fence, so that should go first – we have no choice but to push back the clinic construction,” I said. “And we’ll go over-budget if we get more workers,” I added.

Scott cups his chin as he thinks of a Plan B. “Maybe I can talk to Mr. Reynolds down the road – make him an offer he can’t refuse,” he jokes with a bad Sicilian accent. “I’ll ask if he can lend us a couple of his farm hands and in return, he gets free vet services for his sheep for like 6 months. You think he’d be okay with that?” My ranch partner asks.

“We won’t know unless we ask,” I say to him with a wink. “Just limit the freebies to vaccinations though,” I reminded him.

We agreed to try out Scott’s Plan B tomorrow. I left him immediately after another quick check of the space to go back to the house to shower and prep for my dinner with Lyra in Vancouver. I chose to wear a silk, broadcloth button-down shirt with long sleeves. And for a change from wearing dungarees all the time in the farm, I paired it with a beige chino midi skirt. I put on my cerulean pumps and a dependable black pea coat before locking the door behind me and making my way to the car for a scenic drive to the city.

It’s a comforting thought that my daughter is only two hours away from me. And I can’t help but be nostalgic because it’s her birthday. Lyra has given me so many reasons to be proud over the years: almost-perfect scores in high school; having just enough wits to not go home drunk after hanging out with her friends; getting into her dream university; always graduating with honors and awards; finishing her master’s a year from now; getting early admission to a PhD/MD track after she completes her master’s; and being so strong for the both of us after Christophe passed away.

Yet sometimes I ask myself if Lyra is really happy about how her life is shaping up. I sometimes get a glimpse of her and I can’t help but notice that there is a particular sadness in her eyes – the kind of sadness that starts out small and gets bigger and more defined as it slowly permeates a person’s life. It’s the same kind of sadness I have to live with when I made my decision up in the Wyoming highlands which altered mine and Cosima’s life forever.

It’s Cosima’s birthday today too and I wonder what she’s doing right at this minute. I wonder if we would ever celebrate a birthday together. I often daydream about baking a cake for her, watching her blow candles on it, eating a slice and giving me a forkful of it.

Thoughts of my birthday girls drowned the music coming from the car stereo. Before I knew it, almost two hours have passed and I find myself driving on Lions Gate Bridge. We are to meet at this Italian restaurant at Gastown. I find a parking spot near the restaurant then grab Lyra’s gifts from the car and cross the road.

I see my dear Lyra already sitting by our reserved table and reading a book to pass the time. I stare at her for a while – taking in her resemblance to both me and her Papa. She looked up from her book within minutes and runs towards me for a hug.

“You’re here, Maman!” She said as she gives me a kiss on my cheek.

“Joyeux anniversaire, ma plus chère fille, mon véritable amour,” I whispered to her ear before giving her a kiss on her forehead.

We take our seats and ask the waiter for two glasses of red wine. “How have you been ma poulette?” I ask.

“Good, Maman. Busy,” she said pointing to the textbook she’s reading, “I got some studying done before you got here,” she finished.

“I’m sure you’re managing,” I said. “Where’s Seth?” I asked as soon as a waiter fills up our glasses with the wine we chose.

“He was pulled into a last-minute meeting at work,” Lyra said, “he promises to be here as soon as that is done.” While I try not to interfere with her life, I’ve voiced out my concern about her dating her boss. But they’ve been together for two years and it seems to be going okay, so I let it pass and I’ll keep doing that for as long as she’s happy with him. Though it’s quite curious how the sadness in her eyes seems to be absent while she tells me that her boyfriend is going to be late for her birthday dinner.

“Oh I come bearing gifts,” I said trying to steer myself out of my thoughts about my daughter’s love life. “Here, open mine first,” I said handing her my gift.

She excitedly rips the blue wrapper of my gift and was genuinely surprised with it when she saw it. “Maman,” she said – her eyes going wide, “this is too much,” she said as she opens the green rectangular box that houses a watch.

“Non, ma poulette,” I said with a wave of my hand, “think of it as a birthday and advance graduation gift.”

“Merci beaucoup, Maman,” she said as she removes the watch she’s currently wearing to wear the new one I got for her. The thought that that she loves my gift so much that she wants to wear it now makes me very happy.

“There are some more gifts here – this one’s from Mark and Gracie,” I say while I hand the yellow-wrapped box to her. She opens it immediately to reveal a box of scarves that I’m sure Gracie knitted.

“And there’s another one from Gabi,” I said. She looks up from caressing the scarves and gets the small box wrapped in red paper. Unlike the other gifts, I notice that she’s extra careful in unwrapping Gabi’s gift – which turned out to be a pair of dangling earrings with amethyst and carved quartz. She holds them up, the gift resting on her palms, with a reserved but genuine smile.

“She’s sorry she can’t be at the ranch this weekend. Apparently she’s in Boston,” I explained as she continues to look at the earrings her best friend sent her.

“Boston?” She asked.

“Oui. Mark thinks she met someone special,” I said. “Do you happen to know anything about that?”

Lyra suddenly looks at me at the mention of what Mark and I talked about this morning about Gabi. Returning her gaze, I notice that the sadness in her eyes is back - paired with what looks like confusion and a dash of surprise.

“Maybe we should order something now and eat ahead of Seth,” she said as she quickly places the earrings back on the box and clears the gift wrappers on the table. I nod and she asks for menus from the waiter assigned to our table.

_‘Mon dieu,’_ I thought to myself as I watch her closely while she tries to nonchalantly flip through the restaurant menu, _‘Could it be that her sadness revolves around Gabi?’_


	4. October 10, 1983 – Commitments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a filler chapter just to get the story rolling. Bear with me. :)

It took a while, but I feel that I’ve finally made it.

Sure, it feels comforting to know when the next commissioned work and paycheck is coming. It feels liberating to have actual savings that are earning interest in a bank when only seven years ago, I would have painted for food. I feel pride and a bit of vindication at reading great reviews about my work and at hobnobbing with the most scrutinizing art critics. And it still feels surreal seeing my works up on display in one of the most respected and progressive galleries in San Francisco.

But the moment when it finally sunk in – that I’ve finally found my place under the sun as an artist – didn’t hit me until recently. Yesterday, my first one-woman exhibit turned a week old and while talking with a local reporter and showing him around the Transhumance collection, I saw a father and his young daughter come in to the gallery to have a look. I made it a point to sneak a glance their way whenever I can even if I was in the middle of an interview – curious as to why a father will bring his child to an exhibit that I fear she’s too young to understand. When the reporter got everything he needed, I approached the duo as they were looking at my painting of a cliff filled with castillejas.

“This is what we call prairie-fire back at home, sweetie,” the Dad said to his wide-eyed daughter who stretched out her hand in an attempt to touch the painting. “No, don’t touch it,” the Dad cautioned.

“It’s okay,” I interjected. “Go ahead,” I motioned to the girl in pigtails who walked nearer to the painting and traced the castillejas with her fingers.

“Are you the artist?” The Dad asked and I nod before introducing myself. “I’m Cosima Niehaus. Thank you for coming.”

“Ethan Duncan,” the dad said as he shakes my hand. “This is my daughter, Rachel. Sweetie, say hello to Cosima.”

“Hello,” Rachel said still focused on the painting in front of her.

“This is a great collection,” Ethan said. “We were just passing by and it was too beautiful that we had to see it closer.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Do you like it, Rachel?” I asked as I bow down to talk to Ethan’s daughter.

Rachel stepped back from the painting to hold her father’s hand. She looked at me and nodded. “Yes, very much. I want to be like you when I grow up. I want to paint as well.” 

Her quip put a smile on my face and made her Dad beam with delight. It made my heart swell with pride. There is a child who got inspired to be an artist because of my drawing. How I wish I had something like this growing up in Wyoming. After thanking them again for visiting, they moved along to the other drawings – Rachel still choosing to look and touch the works. Before long, they were saying a polite goodbye to me before praising my work again and leaving the gallery.

That’s when I know that I’ve made it and because of that, it’s easier to breathe these days even if my head’s going insane with the so many interconnected thoughts from the past that I have to unpack to finish the collection. My dreams – dreams that I never even considered for myself when I was younger – are coming true. It’s a comforting thought that I hold onto whenever I find myself like this - up early in the morning, a joint between my fingers, swimming in the random memories of the Summer of 1957 that usually engulf my mind during these hours.

\-----

I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that if left unattended, Krystal will find a way to serve us boiled turkey for Thanksgiving. A week ago, we were talking about this year’s holiday arrangements and the only thing we agreed on is that today’s feast would be at my house since they hosted both the Canadian and the American Thanksgivings last year. In the middle of planning a menu, Krystal began spewing all these factoids about cholesterol and glucose levels - and the need for all of us to start eating healthier.

“Maybe we should lay off with the roast this year, Hon,” Krystal said. “I bet we could just boil the bird – put in some of the herbs you’ve been planting in that backyard of yours for flavor. What do you think?”

“I think...” I said with a mischievous smile and a comforting touch to her shoulder, “That you should leave the cooking up to me.”

Krystal’s ideas may be a bit ridiculous, but her heart is always in the right place. I can practically taste the shakes and juices she’s planning to blend for all of us right now as I prep the turkey. I know I can’t completely kick Krystal out of the kitchen today – she’d want to be useful, so I let her help with making the side dishes and the maple syrup cranberry sauce. It’ll be hard to mess those up - as long as she follows the recipe she’ll be fine. And with Gracie and Mark celebrating Thanksgiving with Gracie’s family, I need all the hands I can get to push out tonight’s dinner.

Thank goodness Lyra is here to help out with the heavy lifting. She volunteered to make the dessert for today – a mincemeat and pumpkin layer pie which she deliciously described to me this morning. She arrived back at the ranch a little after dinner yesterday, uncharacteristically alone. It’s been a habit for her to bring someone for the holidays. I’ve lost track of the number of boyfriends she brought home to introduce to me ever since she started college. 

“Where’s Seth?” I asked her as we have tea before calling it a night.

“We broke up a month ago,” she answered curtly as she stirs in the cream to her tea.

“Care to talk about it ma poulette?” I asked.

And she did talk about it – albeit in a very general manner. She said that a serious relationship would just have to wait because she needed to focus on her studies and work. She said something about Seth wanting to move in together – that his birthday gift to her is a key to his house.

“Did you move in with him?” I inquired.

She did move in with him, she said. “The moment when he asked was too sweet and tender that I couldn’t say no,” she said. She added that she didn’t want to hurt him so a week after her birthday, she gave up her apartment, packed her things, and moved in with Seth. She recounted how it was okay at first – like nothing’s different, but as the months went by it stopped feeling right so she moved out and broke up with him. She said that she’s temporarily living with a friend and will move in to a new apartment closer to school in two weeks time.

“Did you love Seth?” I asked. All Lyra could do is shrug her shoulders at my question.

“I’ll take that as a not really,” I said with a polite smile and she nodded before she left me alone in the kitchen and headed to her room.

I have held on to this theory ever since her birthday dinner in the city that Lyra has feelings for Gabi. I think something happened on prom night that may have brought those feelings out in the open. And whatever happened once those feelings were confessed was enough for Gabi to seek refuge somewhere far and abandon their shared plans of attending UBC together. Maybe the feelings are unrequited or maybe they’re afraid of how we’re going to react should they get together. I haven’t told anybody, not even Krystal, because everything is all conjectures for now. Tonight is my best shot at finding out if my theory holds water – it is the first time that Gabi and Lyra will be in the same room since I really considered the possibility that there’s something more than friendship between them.

“What time is Gabi arriving?” I hear her ask Krystal as I reduce the oven’s temperature and loosely cover the turkey with aluminum foil.

“Just in time for dinner, I hope,” Krystal said as she stirs the cranberry sauce she’s making while looking at my recipe. “But you know her - she’s almost always late for everything.”

I look on to Lyra to try to read her reaction to what Krystal just said. I think she wants to ask more about what Gabi has been up to these past months, so I waited for her follow-up question. When she went back to prepping the pies for baking, I asked the question I think she’s bottling deep inside her.

“She’s bringing someone, yes? Not that it matters, we have enough food for 10 people,” I added.

“Yeah,” Krystal said as she adds copious amounts of lemon juice _(is that in the recipe?)_ to the boiling sauce. “This boy she met in Colorado – Ferdinand something.”

I sneak a glance at Lyra and though her face is devoid of any emotion, at the corner of my eye I think I saw her hands tremble a bit at the knowledge that Gabi won’t be coming alone for dinner tonight.

\-----

Maybe it’s the pot talking, but as early as now I feel like celebrating. While the exhibit is just a week-old, the 26 paintings I planned to install in the gallery were all finished and ready by mid-September. And when the last painting was done – a drawing of two women riding horses, separated by a herd of sheep - I remember opening the bottle of expensive South American wine given to me by one of my previous clients to celebrate an achievement I never planned for, much more even thought of attaining.

I watch Shay sleeping peacefully beside me now as I finish my joint. I couldn’t have done this without her. I know she believes in me: in my talent and in my dedication to my work – and that’s why she pushed for me to even have this exhibit. When I made it home from the studio after finishing my celebratory bottle of wine that day, I told her I’ve done it and she rewarded me with enthusiastic kisses that eventually led to a vigorous all-day fucking session. The next day, she made sure that I got to have creative input on how the paintings should be arranged, and because of that, I think my vision has translated well: the paintings are presented in the gallery in such a way wherein the people viewing the exhibit will feel as if they are going up to the mountains to herd sheep with me.

I stroke Shay’s hair as she sleeps on her side and couldn’t help but feel how thankful and grateful I am to her for all the things she has done for me. Sometimes I can’t help but wish for these feelings of gratitude that I have for her to be enough to make me forget about my longing for a love that was doomed from the start. It makes me feel rotten that while I hold Shay in my arms, it is Delphine who I think about.

I know I should be fair - I should have ended things with Shay as early as last year when I began imagining the moles and beauty marks of another woman splashed on her back when we have sex. Yet every time I think of breaking things off, I try to convince myself to give myself more time to feel that what Shay and I have is enough. I keep waiting for that feeling to kick in, and though I was hopeful at first that I would eventually get to that point, I am not so sure anymore now.

“Hey,” Shay said groggily – my stirring on the bed waking her up.

“Hey,” I say back before kissing her on her forehead.

“Where are you this morning?” She asks as she turns to lie on her back so I can hover over her.

“I’m right here, Babe,” I tell her straight in the eye, trying to sound convincing and sure. In reality, where I really am is somewhere in the Bighorn Ranges, jumping off a cliff into the water, holding on tight to Delphine’s hand, never wanting to let her slip away from my grasps.

Shay moves forward for a soft, sleepy kiss. “Sometimes I feel that you’re not really here with me,” she said. “That you don’t want to be here with me.”

Of course she can sense it. We’ve been together for years and I’d like to think that I have done my best to share my life with her - even if I haven’t been completely honest about my past. “And where do you think I want to be?” I pressed, trying to gauge what she knows or thinks about.

“I don’t know,” she said as she strokes my face with her fingers. “But I hope you’ll let me in one day,” she said as her hand slides down from my face to my chest.

“Go back to sleep, Babe,” I said as I pepper her face with tiny kisses which I hope would be enough for her to drop the subject.

When I was sure she’s sound asleep again, I slowly got up from bed to use the bathroom. I was making my way back to the bedroom when I noticed the time and decided to call Sarah and Kira. I’ve been meaning to call them these past few days but I’ve been busy with the exhibit and everything that comes with it.

I dial Paradise Ranch and sure enough, Sarah picks up.

“Hello big shot artist,” she said.

“How do you even know it’s me?” I asked with a smile on my face, being close with Sarah was something I never saw in my future.

“You’re the only one who calls here at 5 in the morning,” she replied.

“Is Kira there?” I asked. A couple of weeks ago in an earlier phone call, Sarah told me that Kira is going to get married a few days from now to her high school sweetheart, George – a mechanic who used to be a ranch hand for Sarah and Cal. I was supposed to be there but the wedding coincided with the gallery reception for the exhibit.

“Yeah, she’s here. I’ll put her on the line for you,” Sarah said as I hear her call for Kira in the house.

I look around the apartment, noticing how different it feels at this hour – how more at home I am sitting on the couch than when I’m in bed with Shay. I banish that thought aside when I hear Kira’s voice on the phone.

“Auntie Cos? Hello?”

“Hey Monkey!” I said. “How is the wife-to-be? Getting cold feet already?”

“Excited, more than anything,” Kira said. “It’s a no fuss wedding – we’re just going down to city hall to get married then have dinner here at the ranch with our families. I wish you could be here.”

“I know...I’m sorry. I wish I could be there too,” I said. “I’ll be there next year, then we can catch up. How are things in the ranch?”

“Busy as usual,” Kira said. “And Mom has been fixated with the livestock auction – I actually don’t get it, we’ve never bothered with that before.”

So Sarah has kept her promise to try and find out more about what Delphine is doing in Buffalo. “Hey can you put your Mom back on the phone, Monkey?”

\-----

As the turkey slowly cooks in the oven, Krystal went home to dress up and come back with Scott in tow. I asked Lyra to hold the fort as I went up to my room for a nap before taking a shower and preparing for the dinner. Once I got back downstairs, I saw Lyra dozing off in the couch. I let her rest for a bit while I check the food in the kitchen. When everything seems to be in order, I woke her up so she can freshen up before dinner. 

With Lyra and Krystal’s help, the Thanksgiving dinner has gotten off to a fine start. Lyra was upstairs when our first visitors arrived – Andy and Wayne, two of our ranch hands who elected to stay here instead of going home for the holidays. I offered them some beer and wine, and left them to watch TV as I set the table for tonight. Pretty soon, I saw Krystal and Scott’s truck from the kitchen window while I was making the gravy for the turkey. They let themselves in and Krystal automatically continues setting the table as Scott joins the guys on the couch with a beer in hand.

When everything’s ready and delectably placed on the table, Lyra comes down the stairs. She’s wearing the watch I gave her and what looks like a new dress: buttoned, long-sleeved, and black with sprinklings of white patterns, meant to enhance the earrings she chose for tonight – Gabi’s gift. So far, my hunch seems to be gaining validity.

I grabbed a bottle of wine and opened it. I pour some for me, for Krystal, and for Lyra when she asked for one. We sit on the table, say grace, and dig in. Scott, Wayne, and Andy update each other about the various ranch projects they’ve been busy with – the fence problem that has been resolved, the clinic that is close to being finished and will soon start its operations, and updates on our cattle.

“Are we getting new stocks from Wyoming this year?” Andy asks me after he mentions to Scott how great the cattle from last year have been growing in size.

“We’ve been so busy here – with the fence, and the clinic, and everything else. I couldn’t go to Wyoming this September even if I wanted to,” I said.

“It’s too bad Old Man Reynolds said no to our proposal,” Scott chimes in. “If we got even two of his workers, we would have had the time to buy cattle.”

“Honey, its Thanksgiving. Can’t the shop talk wait until tomorrow?” Krystal said to Scott. I can see that she has left the skin off her turkey and have only been eating the meat without any gravy or side-dish. At least she’s consistent about her cholesterol concerns.

“Okay, okay,” Scott concedes with a laugh as he reaches out to hold his wife’s hand.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. As we all look to where the sound is coming from, Wayne rises up from his seat and volunteers to open the door.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Wayne exclaimed opening the door and immediately enveloping Gabi in a hug. Wayne has been with us since the ranch started and like me, he has seen the kids – Mark, Lyra, and Gabi - grow up before his eyes.

“Hey, buddy!” Gabi said as he receives Wayne’s hug and pats his broad shoulders.

Krystal in her excitement drops her utensils, making it clang when it hit the plate. She goes up from where she’s seated and hurriedly runs to hug her daughter. “I missed you too, Mom,” Gabi said as Wayne gets back on the table to resume his meal.

“Hey sport,” Scott said to his daughter after wiping his mouth with a napkin. Gabi walks towards him to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Hey Pops!”

“Hi Delphine,” Gabi said when she reaches me to give me a similar kiss, “these all look delicious.”

“Hey, I helped cook!” Krystal adamantly says as she sits back down.

“Okay, Mom, what did you cook so I know what to avoid,” Gabi jokes as Scott discreetly points to the sauce and side-dish.

I intentionally placed Lyra beside the empty seats reserved for Gabi and her guest, hoping to see how they would regard each other. Gabi seems to have come here alone, and I noticed a faint smile on my daughter’s face when nobody followed Gabi as she entered the house.

“Hey stranger,” Lyra said to Gabi who gave her a kiss on the cheek and a friendly hug before taking the seat beside her.

“Hey you’re wearing them!” Gabi excitedly said when she noticed Lyra’s earrings, touching the earrings after they hug. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like them when I saw them in Boston,” she said as she sits and gets a serving of turkey and mashed potatoes.

“I love them...anything from you, I’ll like,” Lyra said. I try not to react too much to what I just heard, not wanting to jump into conclusions and deciding to observe them some more.

“So Honey, tell us about Boston. What are you doing there? Oooh! Are we still on for San Francisco on the 27th? We have to go because I just roped in Delphine who got Lyra to tag along!” Krystal exclaimed.

“Yes, we are totally go for San Fran,” Gabi said and her mom breathes a sigh of relief. For a month now, Krystal has been excited about visiting San Francisco to help out Gabi with arranging her new apartment. She wanted to swing by Pescadero - her hometown. It was actually Scott’s idea for Krystal to bring me along for the trip because he feels bad that during the very busy months prior to Thanksgiving, Scott went on a week-long camping and fishing trip with some of his hometown buddies. He felt bad about leaving the work to all of us and convincing me to go with Krystal to San Francisco is his way of making things even – he got to have a vacation, so I should get to have a break from the ranch too. 

“You didn’t answer my question about Boston, Honey. What did you do there?” Krystal said, not allowing her daughter to side-step the topic of why she’s in the East Coast.

“I was there to look at schools, nothing serious...and I was also there to meet Ferdinand’s family and friends,” Gabi answered.

“Ooh, where is he? I thought he’d be coming here with you. We made room for him,” Krystal said as she points to the empty seat beside Gabi.

“He’ll be here tomorrow,” Gabi said with a quick glance not only to Krystal but also to Lyra. “He couldn’t get a flight for today at the last minute,” she added. “And I thought the empty seat is for Seth,” she said as she slices her turkey.

“Seth won’t be coming to any future dinners at the ranch,” Lyra said earning a quizzical look from Gabi.

“Honey,” Krystal said before Gabi can even pose a question about what Lyra said, “What is that on your neck?”

“Oh,” Gabi said as she touches the necklace she’s wearing. She proceeds to take it off, as if to show to everybody what her mom is referring to.

“I was waiting until tomorrow to say this to you guys, so that Ferdinand and I can tell it to you together,” she said as she puts the necklace in her pocket and wears the ring which I thought was a pendant at first. “Mom, Dad, Ferdinand and I are engaged,” Gabi said.

The room suddenly gets filled with Krystal’s squeals of joy, while Scott - who seems to be taken aback by what he just heard - still managed to say “Congratulations” to his daughter. Wayne and Andy followed suit and offered their congratulations for Gabi’s engagement.

Immediately, my eyes shift towards Lyra who looks dumbfounded – if a bit gutted – by Gabi’s Thanksgiving news. She looked down to her plate of food to hide her face - part sad and part trying to shake it off and stay cool. “Congratulations,” I heard her say without looking at Gabi. It is all the confirmation I need to believe that my theory is correct.

At that moment, my heart can’t help but break for my daughter.

\-----

“Livestock auction?” I say over the phone as soon as Kira hands it back to her mom.

“I said I’ll try to find out more, so I did,” Sarah replied. “And we actually sold something and made some profit. I don’t know why we never did this before, it was actually good.”

It has been months since I last broached the subject of Delphine to Sarah and I controlled myself from following-up on it in the conversations that followed. I really didn’t want to actively think about it - afraid that I might get my hopes up only for it to be crushed just in case my sister doesn’t find anything new about it. To be honest, I didn’t know she would actually follow through when she told me she’ll try last March.

“What about it?” I said cautiously.

“She didn’t show up last September. But apparently she comes here a lot. I talked to one of the organizers and he said she registers her ranch as a buyer every year since ’73,” Sarah disclosed.

“Delphine has a ranch?” I asked, a bit surprised about what Sarah is telling me.

“Yup. Cormier Moulin Smith Cattle Ranch... I pretended that we had a deal with them and asked for the address. They’re up in the north – Pemberton, British Columbia,” she answered.

“Cormier Moulin Smith...” I said out loud. While I wonder who the Smith is, the attachment of the name Moulin to Cormier pierces like an extra-sharp dagger through my hopeful heart. The presence of Christophe’s last name in Delphine’s ranch dashed whatever dreams I have of us. If his name is still in the mix then they’re probably still together, and whatever reason she has for coming to Buffalo wouldn’t matter -_ shouldn’t matter_ \- to me if she’s still married.

“Okay,” I surrendered.

“That’s it? Just _‘okay’_? After all the paperwork and inspections I had to deal with to join that auction? Do you even want to know if she comes here with someone?” Sarah pressed.

“I think I know enough,” I said.

“Well you have an address now, yeah? You can show up there and confront this woman or whatever,” my sister added.

“Can we just not talk about this, like ever?” I pleaded. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? I love you, bye.” I put down the phone before Sarah can even squeeze in a question or a goodbye.

I take a deep breath and quickly walk back to the bedroom. I took off my glasses to hurriedly slide under the covers. I’m lying on my side, facing the door as tears fall from my eyes when I felt Shay snake her arm over my hips – her hand trying to find warm skin to land on before she hikes up the loose shirt I’m wearing to rest her palm on my stomach.

‘Enough’, I think to myself, ‘this has to be enough’, as I shut my eyes to try to go back to sleep, forcing and pleading with myself to put the memories of Delphine out of my mind forever.


	5. October 31, 1983 - The Exhibit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very long chapter – probably the most ambitious one I’ve written and shared so far. Let me know what you think. :)

I couldn’t even remember the last time I was on vacation, which is a shame because the past two days have been the most relaxing time I’ve ever had since I decided to push through with Christophe’s plan of buying the Pemberton ranch. We arrived at San Francisco on the 26th, deciding to drive instead of taking a plane when Gabi told us that there would be cheap parking available near her apartment. I actually pushed to travel by car so that I can coax Lyra into coming with us, using the excuse that I would need another person to share the driving load with (Krystal knows how to drive, but is too fidgety and easily distracted for a long, cross-country trip).

I know Lyra was also looking forward to this trip. But as I expected, she had a change of heart during Thanksgiving dinner – saying that she wasn’t so keen on coming to San Francisco with us anymore because of school and work. It’s clear - to me at least - that she’s trying to avoid spending time with Gabi. She even made up a flimsy excuse the morning after Thanksgiving that she has to leave for Vancouver because something work-related came up.

In reality, I know she’s just avoiding seeing Gabi with her fiancé. A couple of hours after Lyra left for the city, Krystal arrived with Mark, Gabi and Ferdinand. I can tell that Gabi was looking for her and I can sense some disappointment when I told her that Lyra left. She introduced me to Ferdinand – saying that I was the closest thing she has to an aunt. Ferdinand - slender, bespectacled with wavy black hair, unconventionally handsome, and quite interesting-looking – seems like a nice boy. A UMass law student taking a break from school, he met Gabi on a hiking trip up in the Colorado Rockies. “He was so clueless,” Gabi said, “that I know I have to help him or he’ll die of exposure.”

They’ve been inseparable ever since, Ferdinand said. On their last day together, he asked her to visit Boston with him and somehow, Gabi said yes. I couldn’t help but notice that the entire time his sister talked about spending time with Ferdinand, Mark kept looking my way. He seems to know something and he can probably sense that I’ve began to figure it out for myself.

The story of how Gabi and Ferdinand met and fell in love continued for days and naturally died down when they left the ranch: Gabi to go back to San Francisco, and Ferdinand to go back to Boston. Unfortunately for Lyra, an 18-hour road trip is the perfect time to re-tell Gabi and Ferdinand’s story. It didn’t help that Krystal kept bringing up how romantic it is that Ferdinand is going to switch schools and move to Berkeley for Gabi before the summer term starts. Lyra’s response is either feigned interest or a subtle subject change.

With me and her taking turns at the wheel, we arrived in Berkeley a day earlier than expected. Gabi, who got to Berkeley a week earlier than us, was quite surprised and happy that we brought sleeping bags and air mattresses so we can all sleep in her empty apartment. “It’ll be like a mother-daughter slumber party!” Krystal exclaimed. Lyra can barely hide her disappointment at our refusal to her adamant suggestions to get a hotel room instead.

We helped Gabi pick up her things from some friends and from a storage unit she rented before we help her set up her new apartment. Apart from her boxes upon boxes of books, she didn’t own much which made the chore easier. Once all her things were in place, we set off to buy a new couch (a gift from me) and a new bed (a gift from her parents) – all of which were delivered to the apartment. She volunteered to sleep on the pull-out couch so that Krystal and I can sleep more comfortably on the new double bed. Krystal found odd when Lyra insisted on roughing it out on the air mattress instead of sharing the futon with Gabi.

“You girls have had so many sleepovers, I don’t get why you’re so shy all of a sudden,” Krystal said to Lyra. Lyra made up an excuse about being a light sleeper these days, “I don’t want to keep Gabi up because of my tossing and turning,” she reasons with a laugh which earned a confused look from Krystal. I may have underestimated Krystal’s powers of deduction. Maybe like me, she’s beginning to be on to something about them. But I have to hand it to Lyra – if you’re completely clueless, you’d see nothing wrong. When we’re out as a group, she banters with Gabi in the way old friends do. For as long as they’re not alone together, Lyra seems to be a happy camper who’s taking advantage of her short break from school and work.

It’s been a fun trip so far! Two days after getting settled and with Gabi acting as our tour guide, we went to all the interesting sights in and around the U.C. Berkeley. Over the course of two days, we had a nice hike at Tilden Park; we took a guided walking tour of the campus and had a photo taken with the Sather Tower at the background; we spent some time in the university’s botanical gardens and watched several free theatre and music performances; we visited the Lawrence Hall of Science – much to Lyra’s excitement; and we ate out and had coffee in the various restaurants and cafes in and near campus.

Today and tomorrow would be fully-devoted to visiting the various sights of San Francisco. Krystal insisted that we start our day in Baker Beach, “I haven’t seen the sea in such a long time,” she reasoned. We arranged for a picnic and Lyra volunteers to grill some burgers as we take a walk along the beach.

“It’s too bad we can’t swim here,” I say as I find myself folding my pants and walking towards the sea as waves hit my feet. I haven’t spent a lot of time near the ocean and over the years, Krystal has fascinated me with stories of growing up near the sea, of how she used to cut class to swim and surf with friends as a teenager and how that made her feel so alive.

“It’s okay Hon,” Krystal said. “When we get to Pescadero, maybe we can even swim a little,” she adds reassuringly while unwittingly taking a photo of me and the beach with the camera she brought for this trip.

I look out to the ocean and remember my only fantasy involving a beach. It was a dream I allowed my younger self to think about when I’m alone– when Christophe is at work and when I’ve put Lyra down for her nap. I fantasize about showing up in Tampa where I heard Cosima went after our summer together. I dream of a reunion between us and I imagine a day spent on one of the beaches there – not a care in the world because we’re together. We’ll stand by the edge of the ocean, our feet getting tickled by the sand. We’ll wade through the water and waves hand-in-hand, easy smiles etched on our faces.

A strong wave almost made me lose my footing and completely washed out my daydream. Standing alone now on knee-deep waters while I look at the Golden Gate Bridge from afar, I can’t help but feel that maybe I should start being at peace with the looming reality that Cosima and I would never be together again. Maybe the time I devote to driving to Wyoming in the hopes of a reunion would be better spent on vacations and trips like this – creating real memories for the life I’ve chosen instead of clinging to the remnants of a fleeting past.

\-----

The month went by so fast. It seems only yesterday that I was hanging the paintings on the gallery’s walls, hoping to sell even just a couple of pieces so that the exhibit would not be a total flop. But a few quick weeks later, it’s now the last day of the exhibit and the gallery is happy enough with the show that they are hosting a Halloween cocktail party for it. The gallery’s founder is also quite ecstatic that the exhibit is going well. She even promised me that if I’m up for another show, I should just say the word and they will have the dates reserved for me.

Shay is happier these days too and I’d like to think I have a hand in that. I try to be more present around her nowadays, more attentive to her needs, and more available for anything she wants to do together. I also make it a point to stay in bed with her even if I still wake up too early - trying my best to think of other things instead of the usual stuff that my mind conjures in the early morning. I think of the exhibit, of taking a vacation somewhere warm with Shay, of visiting Paradise Ranch, and of ideas for future paintings. I even considered asking Shay to pose for me so that I can give the portrait to her as a gift.

After my last conversation with Sarah, I made it a point to get to that place where I could feel that what I have with Shay is enough – more than enough; that I don’t want anybody else but her; that if I concentrate hard enough, I can make myself believe that the past is the past and there’s nothing I can do about it now. It isn’t easy and I don’t really know if it is working, but hey, at least I’m trying harder now.

Waking up refreshed from a nap I took this afternoon, I see a note from Shay on our bedside table. _“Had to go to the gallery early, see you later. I’ve picked out a dress for you. XO - S”_, the note said. I get up from bed and make myself a cup of tea, relishing the remaining hour I have all to myself before I have to mix and mingle with potential buyers, reporters, and critics. I walk around Shay’s apartment and saw the dress she picked out for me to wear – a sleeveless maroon dress that I absolutely love which happens to accentuate all my curves.

When the tea is gone, I went to the bathroom to take an extra-long shower, finding it very easy to let go and relax as the stream of hot water hits my body. I feel even more refreshed and relaxed when I stepped out of the shower as I try to decide if I should wear my hair up in a bun or if I should just tie up my dreads in a ponytail like I always do. I went with the former and spent an extra few minutes tucking a few stray dreads in with the rest of the bun.

With my hair up, I proceeded to put on my make-up. The winged eyeliner has been a signature look for me and it’s my small but quite effective way of getting people – men, specifically – to look me in the eye instead of staring at my chest or at my lips. I take my time in making sure it’s perfect before dressing up and putting on some perfume. After quickly checking my hair and smoothing my dress with my palms, I grab my red coat and my keys to leave for the gallery. 

The gallery is located in Geary Street – a normally busy part of San Francisco due to its proximity to Market Street, Union Square, and the Embarcadero. While I usually ride my bike from Shay’s Dogpatch apartment to the gallery or when I need to go to my studio in Ellis Street, today I take a taxi –wanting to be on-time for once without ruining my look. I was still late though – traffic was horrendous and too many people are already out and about in their Halloween garb.

As soon as I enter the gallery, I was welcomed by an ecstatic Shay who wrapped me in her arms and gave me a kiss. “You wouldn’t believe it, Babe,” she said excitedly, “a buyer just bought two of your pieces. We’ve sold 21 paintings!”

“Wow,” I said as I try to put on my most enthusiastic voice. “Ah, that’s great?” I didn’t mean to blurt it out as a question, but selling the paintings is just a means to an end for me – if they make money, I get to paint more of what I like which is the real goal.

“Yes, that’s great!” Shay corrected me as she puts her arm around my waist. “This may be the first time in the gallery’s history that we sell out all our exhibit pieces!” Shay said before giving me a quick peck on the cheek as she walks towards another art dealer entering the gallery and taking a look at the remaining available artworks.

I walk around the well-lit space and see my paintings – nine months of blood, sweat, tears, and memories. Most of them already have small red dots stuck on their frames indicating that they’re sold. Even if I’ve devoted all my willpower these past few weeks into not thinking about the catalyst behind these paintings, I still can’t help but see a part of her and our summer in every flick of paint. And for the first time since this exhibit opened, I can’t help but wish for what Shay wants: for every piece of art to be sold before the night ends. Because if I am to finally move on from the Summer of 1957, I wouldn’t want to bring any of the paintings that will remind me of her back to my studio.

\-----

“Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“Are you okay?” I said looking behind me to see Krystal hobbling with her daughter.

“Yes, Hon, I’m fine,” she said without hiding her irritation and discomfort. “It’s just this stupid ingrown in my toe that I thought I’ve already fixed before our trip.”

The chorus of Krystal’s discomfort accompany us as we head back to our picnic spot where Lyra has finished grilling our late lunch of burgers and corncobs. As Gabi proceeds to help Lyra in plating our food, I motion for Krystal to stretch out her legs so I can take a look at the offending ingrown. “This looks bad,” I said as I examine how red and swollen the corner of her right toe has become. “We should get it out,” I suggested before rummaging for a nail cutter in my bag.

“No, Hon!” She said while swatting my hand away from her foot. “I already tried to remove it yesterday and I think I made it worse,” she said with a wince. “I’ll have it taken care of when we get back home,” she added.

“Mom, we’re going to be walking a lot later and tomorrow – it will get worse,” Gabi reminded her. “There’s a nail salon I go to – it’s just down at Market Street. Maybe we can swing by there and have that fixed before we go to the Embarcadero tonight.”

I can see Krystal weighing her options about her painful toe as the girls help themselves to some grilled corn. “How far is it?” She asks Gabi. “20 minutes from here,” Gabi replies. “It’ll be over way before dinner, Mom, And Shari is good – she gets rid of my dry skin when it gets painful,” she reassures her.

“We should go,” I added. “We can’t wait until we’re back at the ranch,” I said. “It might even get infected if we don’t have it taken out.”

“Okay,” Krystal concedes. “Just a quick meal then we’ll go,” she adds.

After eating and cleaning up, we all head back to Gabi’s car. Our parking spot is quite far from the picnic grove and with Krystal walking in front of me I can see how she consciously avoids putting too much weight on the painful toe. Krystal let out a series of _Ows_ as we get into the backseat. “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” she said in between tears, “I make time for cuticle care!” I try to stifle my laughter as I rub her back to comfort her. Gabi takes one quick look at the rear view mirror and glanced at Lyra who’s in the front seat and staring out of the window before driving to the salon. She makes a couple of turns before we found ourselves in the middle of bumper-to-bumper San Francisco traffic.

After half an hour, Gabi makes a turn towards Market Street. “The salon’s that way,” Gabi pointed to us, “I’ll just look for parking,” she said as she stops at the curb. Lyra gets out of the car first, which seems to surprise Gabi a little as she was probably expecting her company while she looks for parking, and opens our door as we get out. “Look for Shari,” Gabi reminded us before pulling away and getting back on the road.

Lyra walks ahead of us as I assist a gingerly-walking Krystal. By the time we get to the salon, Lyra was already talking to the receptionist who’s already blurting out Shari’s name. Luckily, Shari seems to be available and motioned us to take a seat at her station. Krystal was quick to tell what the problem is and Shari prepares a soak for her feet to soften the ingrown and make it easier to remove.

“This may take a while,” Shari mentioned while dabbing lukewarm and soapy water with a cloth on Krystal’s toe. “Make yourself at home, ladies,” she said as she points to some empty seats near the salon’s entrance where a stack of magazines and newspapers are available for waiting customers. With nothing left to do but wait, we take our seats. Lyra wordlessly asks me to hand her a couple of magazines tucked on the table beside me. None of the remaining magazines pique my interests so I grab a week-old edition of the San Francisco Chronicle, hoping to pass the time with a crossword puzzle.

\------

I quickly ate the remaining piece of pigs in a blanket and drank my glass of champagne before cleaning my hands with a table napkin. “Cosima!” I hear Shay said from across the room as she heads towards me with a middle-aged woman in a black business suit.

“Mrs. Montgomery, this is the artist – Cosima Niehaus,” Shay said excitedly when she got to where I am. “Cosima, this is Mrs. Catherine Montgomery – the newest owner of one of your paintings.” I shook her hand firmly and smiled before saying: “Thank you. I hope you enjoy it.”

Mrs. Montgomery looks at me with a fondness I cannot place until she spoke. “It’s nice to meet a fellow Wyomingite, Miss Cosima,” Catherine said. “I was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. It says here,” pointing to one of the gallery’s flyers littering the room, “that you’re from Buffalo?”

“Yes, Ma’am, born and raised,” I said. “What brings you to San Francisco?” I added as Shay leaves us to work the room some more.

“Marriage is what brought me to San Francisco,” Catherine said with a slight smile. “My husband,” she said pointing to a man in a spiffy gray suit, “lives and works here. I read about your exhibit in the paper and I had to see it for myself. And this,” she said pointing to the painting of the cliff with the castillejas – the same painting Ethan and Rachel were looking at only a few weeks ago - “reminded me of something similar up in Casper Mountain. I saw it and I knew I had to buy it. Who knew a little piece of home could be quite expensive,” she said with a chuckle.

We talked some more about Wyoming – how she plans on putting my painting on a bed and breakfast she’s planning to open in her hometown, and how she’s happy to meet someone from The Equality State. Pretty soon, her husband – Walter - walks to us and after a brief introduction, they offer me a job to make more paintings for their bed and breakfast project. Before I could say anything about that, a reporter who I recognized to be one of Shay’s contacts joins our conversation. “So Cosima,” the reporter whose name I cannot remember said, “tell us your inspiration for your paintings.” Catherine and Walter give me curious looks, sharing the reporter’s curiosity and awaiting for my response.

I haven’t given a straight and honest answer to these kinds of questions ever since people began throwing it my way. And I have a ready answer for it - something about how nature never fails to inspire artists to see the world through their own personal peepholes; something about seeing my experience as a young rancher from the perspective of an aspiring painter. And while this answer usually satisfies reporters and patrons, I know deep down that it’s a lie – that it’s not a matter of what inspired me, but of who inspires me.

I excuse myself from the Montgomeries and the reporter to grab another glass of champagne. In the corner of the room, I can see Shay talking with other curators and discreetly signalling the number 22 with her fingers to me. “Four more to go,” I mumble to myself, hoping that forgetting about her completely would come easier when all the paintings she inspired me to make have been discarded.

\------

To my disappointment, the crossword puzzle in the old newspaper has already been answered – albeit poorly and most likely by a bored husband waiting for his wife to get her nails done. I flip to the next pages in the hopes of reading something interesting. In the next page, there’s a recipe for chicken empanadas which seems to be something I could easily do when we get back to the ranch.

As I take note of the recipe, I hear the salon door open and see Gabi walk in to look for Krystal, who is currently squirming in her seat as Shari carefully tries to get rid of the pesky ingrown. I was about to put the paper down to get some coffee in a cafe I saw from across the salon when something in the newspaper caught my attention. In its one-page Arts and Culture section, a familiar name stood out. I had to read it twice just to make sure I’m not imagining things.

_Visual Arts_

_Cosima Niehaus: “Transhumance”, Summer of ‘57 at the Bighorn Ranges, Wyoming_

_Gallery Paule Anglim, 14 Geary St. / October 3 – October 31, 1983_

I stood up from my chair so fast that Lyra looked at me and did a double-take when the metal legs squeaked loudly. “Excuse me,” I said to the receptionist who’s currently filing her nails, “do you know where 14 Geary Street is?”

“Yeah, it’s near,” the receptionist said without even looking at me. “From here, walk to the left and just go straight until you see Kearny Street. Turn left and the first corner to your left should be 14 Geary Street – it’s mostly art studios there,” she added.

“Thank you,” I hurriedly said while I grab my bag from where I was seated.

“Maman? Where are you going?” Lyra asked with furrowed brows while Gabi approaches us to sit beside her.

“I have to be somewhere right now before it’s too late,” I said amidst my confusion which didn’t dampen my determination to go to the address indicated in the paper. “I’ll see you all later,” I said as I wear my coat and wave to Krystal, who quickly waved back before putting both her hands on her mouth as she anticipates the pain of Shari’s every move.

“I’m coming with you, Maman,” I hear Lyra say as I was about to open the door. I didn’t even wait for her to finish grabbing her things and explaining to Gabi that we’re going somewhere before I started walking towards Kearny Street.

“Maman!” I hear her call me from behind. “Maman, wait up!”

I can’t believe it - that after all those years of driving to and from Wyoming in the hopes of seeing her, I’m actually getting that chance here in a foreign city while I’m on vacation; while I was sitting in a salon, waiting for a beautician to remove my best friend’s ingrown. As I walk as fast as I possibly can, I have never been more thankful for Krystal and for mundane things like ingrowns and amateur cuticle care.

I reach Geary Street in a daze and took a left. Lyra has caught up with me as I was about to cross the street. “Where exactly are we going, Maman?” She said. I just looked at her, as if silently requesting her to just go with it. When I enter the gallery, I was surprised to see the first of Cosima’s paintings – a silhouette of Paradise Ranch. From the drawing, I can make out the farm house, the dirt road leading to it, and the barn. It’s so beautiful.

“I didn’t know you like art, Maman,” Lyra said as she reads a flyer that she got from the gallery’s entrance. 

“I’ll look around for a bit, ma poulette,” I said absentmindedly as my eyes scan the room for a glimpse of the artist.

To my untrained eye, the exhibit seems to be arranged as if we’re going on a trek to the heart of the Bighorn Ranges. The second painting is that of Paradise Ranch’s barn – a drawing of the barn’s interior where farm implements, belts, saddles, and hats are hung next to the horses. I couldn’t help but remember how I borrowed Sarah’s brown hat to mask my messy, tangled hair that Cosima found oddly majestic.

The painting beside it is that of a steep incline beside a wide river, the entire landscape warmed by a setting sun. The painting next to it is an aerial view of the herd of sheep as they enter their pen through a narrow iron gate. Dynamic and with shades of white, green, and orange, the painting is so intricate that it looks more like a colored photograph than a painting. To its right is a painting of a mug on a porch railing as the sun rises, the Bighorn Ranges standing tall in the background. The next drawing looks familiar – an image of a ewe’s reflection while it drinks water from a stream. Another drawing just at the edge of the room is that of a tree stump with a rope slung snugly around it.

“This is our summer,” I hear myself say and I couldn’t help but let out a sob. Cosima never forgot what we had, much in the same way that I hung on to every memory of our only summer together in my every waking moment and in my dreams. 

I reach the end of the exhibit. The last drawing is set in a mountain path where a herd of sheep is flanked by two women riding horses. The woman leading the herd seems to be looking back to the other woman who seems to be avoiding her gaze.

I know I have to have it the minute I saw it.

I approach a young man wearing a shirt with the gallery’s name and logo. When I asked him if the painting is available for purchase, he looked at the frame and said yes. “As long as it doesn’t have a red dot, it means it’s still available,” he explains. “I have to have it,” I said, the desperation in my voice quite obvious. The young man nodded and then disappeared, probably to tell the person in charge about me and my interest in owning Cosima’s painting.

A little while later, the young man returns with an eccentrically-dressed but very beautiful woman with green eyes. Even indoors she wears a hat – its black and it accentuates her straight and long blonde hair. Her outfit makes her look very sophisticated, which reminded me of how casual I seem to look with my blue sweater, black pants, and sneakers still dotted with wet sand.

“Can I help you?” The shorter woman asked while trying to subtly look at me from head to foot.

“Yes. I was looking into buying this painting and I was told it’s still available,” I said while I shift my attention to her from Cosima’s painting.

“Ah yes, it’s one of the few remaining pieces. I’m Shay, the lead curator for this exhibit. Why don’t you fill up the painting acquisition form before we talk about payment and delivery,” she said while offering a trite smile as she hands me a piece of paper and a pen.

“Thank you,” I said before overcoming my nerves and asking, “Can I meet the artist?”

Shay looks at me as I start filling in my details, probably trying to figure out if I’m really pushing through with buying the painting that comes with a considerable price tag. “Certainly,” she said. “Why don’t I go look for her while you do that,” she said with a hint of slight annoyance at my request. I nod and she walks away from me.

I couldn’t help but follow Shay with my eyes, wishing to get a glimpse of Cosima from afar as the curator looks for her inside the sprawling gallery.

As my eyes land on the makeshift bar where Shay stopped, I’m reminded of what my own Maman used to hope for me as young girl: that I wouldn’t have to live in interesting times, and that I never get to find what it is I’m looking for.

I never understood what she meant until now.

\-----

“Babe,” Shay said, catching me a bit off guard as she hugs me from behind by my waist, “we’ve sold another one,” she disclosed as I instinctively hold her arms tighter around me. “Just three more to go,” she whispered in my ear before giving it a slight nibble.

With my happiest expression prepared, I turn to face her. She seems to be basking in the glory of it all: a well-organized event; an almost sold-out exhibit; a critically-acclaimed collection; praises from her boss and the gallery founder; me in her arms. Everything seems to be overwhelming in the best way for her and she did what anybody would do when they find that everything in their life is falling into place.

“I love you so much, my Cosima,” she said as she leans in for a kiss.

On an ordinary day in an ordinary setting, saying ‘I love you too’ would have been easy. The words would have easily rolled out of my tongue to the delight of the woman I have tried to share a life with for the past three years. But tonight, as we stand in the gallery surrounded by my paintings that were inspired by another woman – the only woman I saw myself growing old with and sharing a life with - I seem to have lost the capacity for coherent speech. The inability to say those words is aided by the fact I can see my painting of the night sky in the cabin in my periphery – the night sky with Delphine’s intricate beauty marks splashed all over it.

I couldn’t say it, so I closed my eyes instead – hoping that the sensory deprivation will help me return her kiss with the same level of passion and love that she’s putting to it.

When the kiss ends, I try to get swept away by her big, green eyes that are looking straight at me, filled with what looks like affection, happiness, and contentment – emotions that I only partially feel when I’m around her. She sighed and smiled - a sure sign that my masquerade worked yet again.

“Three more to go,” I said as she pulls me close to affectionately bump our foreheads together.

“Come, let’s meet the latest buyer,” Shay said as she pulls away from me and takes my hand to lead me towards the edge of the room where the last painting is displayed.

\----

I know it’s selfish of me to expect Cosima to put her life on hold until we meet again, until we find each other again. But seeing her now from across the room while she is being caressed and kissed by another – with the whole world around them seemingly melting away as they look into each other’s eyes – was all I need to realize that not only was I selfish, I was also foolish and naive.

They’re kissing and I can see Cosima running her hands through her hair before travelling lower to stroke her back. I can sense that they’re hugging tighter, trying to eliminate all the spaces between them in unhurried and practiced motions. They radiate intimacy – the kind that comes with long-term familiarity. With their bodies closer and with Cosima’s hands roaming on the other woman’s body, all I want to do is look away. But my eyes seem to have other ideas – they don’t want to avert their gaze on the happy couple, as if deciding for me that I must see this so that I can finally, finally let go and move on from the Summer of 1957.

My thoughts and emotions speed like a runaway train in my mind and heart. Being slapped with the reality that the only person I loved completely is now with someone else makes me question everything I thought to be absolute truths. Maybe I just romanticized what we had, idealized it and placed it on a pedestal and made it a standard for what love should be. Maybe it’s just the pregnancy hormones that made me flutter and float in bliss when I was in the highlands with her. Maybe I’ve been boxing myself from the possibilities of ever finding love again. Maybe this entire exhibit was Cosima’s way of expelling whatever residual emotions she had about our very short time together. Maybe this is her way of letting go, of saying good riddance to the summer when a married woman came into her life and caused her unimaginable pain and suffering.

Before they can even part from each other, I decided to run to the nearest exit, clutching and crumpling the acquisition form I was supposed to fill up as I leave. I tried to look for Lyra as I make my way out the gallery, but I couldn’t find her - my eyes getting clouded by a stream of heavy tears that I don’t even try to hide. The sheer number of people out in the streets overwhelms me once outside, making me desperate to seek shelter from the overstimulation and from the questioning looks I am getting because of my uncontrollable sobs and disheveled appearance.

I walk as far away as possible from the gallery, looking for a place to buy some cigarettes and hard alcohol. Hoping to disappear, I walk towards the busy Kearny Street and take a turn towards a small alley lined with an assortment of shops. I stop by a convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes - Mild Sevens when the shop told me that they don’t sell my usual Belmont Filters. I wanted to buy a big bottle of whisky, but the store attendant – who took one good look at me and realized that I want nothing more than to swig it right then and there - suggested that I buy mini bottles instead so I can inconspicuously smoke and drink outside. I took his suggestion and bought a couple of Chivas Regal miniatures. He even lit my cigarette for me when he saw how unsteady and shaky my hands are.

I haven’t done this in years – smoke in public. I always lump smoking with my thoughts of Cosima as the things I can only do when I’m completely by myself. It’s not because Cosima is my secret shame, it’s because I wanted to be selfish with her – with the very few moments we had and the few ounces of hope that I still have left for us, had left for us. The cigarettes usually accompany my thoughts of her because thinking of her always reminds me of the coldness and emptiness of my hands – hands that should have been the one hugging her from behind, touching her face, and stroking her hair. The cigarettes provide a temporary comfort and give my hands something warm to hold onto. It creates the illusion that I’m not empty-handed, even if the warmth will only last for a few minutes.

I light another cigarette as I finish the first small bottle of liquor. Maybe it’s the alcohol kicking in and numbing the pain, but I can’t help but be happy in spite of the ache. I guess my eyes did not want to look away from them because it’s trying to make me see what is beyond the kiss. I’m happy that Cosima is doing so well as an artist. I can still remember how she doubted her talents before, and to see her now when all her dreams seem to have come true is truly a blessing. I’m happy that Cosima still seems so full of life, so strong. I love her new hair – it really suits her. After all these years, she’s still the most beautiful woman for me. I’m happy that she seems to be in love with Shay, that she is loved the way she should be – proudly out in the open for all the world to see; so unlike what we had – a love that seems to only lurk in the shadows and flourish in seclusion. The artist and the curator in love, I think there is no better fit than that.

I pocket the remaining bottle as I walk with a cigarette between my lips with no destination in mind. Seeing them together is my cue that from now on, I should just be at peace with loving Cosima from afar even if I know we cannot be together. I’ve had 26 years worth of experience in that. I think I could go another 26 years doing just that. Walking along another big street in a city I don’t know, I have to convince myself that that has to be enough as I wipe the fresh batch of tears from my eyes.

\----

“She was just here,” Shay spat out in frustration. “I left her to come and get you because she wanted to meet the artist. I thought we can close the sale together.”

“Maybe she changed her mind,” I said nonchalantly. “There’ll be other buyers tonight,” I said in my feeble attempt to comfort her.

Shay just bit her lip and took a quick scan of the room. “I guess you’re right,” she said, a bit disappointed and exasperated. “I’m going back there to check up on the sounds and the program,” she then said after she gives me a kiss on the cheek. There would be a short program before the night ends which I’ve been dreading because I have to speak in front of all these people.

“Maman?” I hear a young woman beside me holding two glasses of water say with a tinge of panic and confusion in her voice.

“Can I help you?” I asked the woman.

“No, I’m afraid not,” she replied with a tight, polite smile, “unless you saw the woman who was just here – about my height, blonde, slender, in her 40s?"

“Oh, is she the one looking at buying the painting?” I asked. “I’m afraid like you, I just missed her.”

Her eyes search the room until it focused on the painting in front of us. Maybe it’s the champagne but I am getting the weirdest sense of familiarity with this girl. I couldn’t quite place it. With my curiosity piqued, I engage her in a conversation.

“How do you like it?” I asked pointing around the artworks.

She looks at me and for the first time, I get a complete picture of what she looks like. Is it just the lighting in this gallery or does she have the same eyes as Delphine?

“They’re great,” she said. “I like the sheep painting the most.”

“Which one? I did a lot of sheep paintings,” I jest.

“The one where they’re coming out of the gate,” she said as her eyes wander, continuing her search for someone. “It reminds me a little of home actually - though we raise cattle, not sheep. And the mountain drawings remind me of my childhood,” she added to be polite. 

“Childhood? Are you from Wyoming too?” I asked.

“No, I live up north - in Canada,” she gamely answered. “But I guess you can say that I’m also from Wyoming,” she added in an effort to add value to the conversation.

“What?” I said with a smirk. 

“Yeah,” she answered. “Maman always reminds me that I was born there. I barely remember Buffalo though – we moved to Montana when I was still a baby. Anyway, it was nice talking to you, congratulations on all this,” she said as she tries to move along to continue her search in the gallery.

Delphine’s Eyes. Raising Cattle. Canada. Buffalo. Montana. Maman. It’s too much of a coincidence but everything adds up. She seems to be the same age as Delphine’s little girl. Before I can even filter my thoughts, my lips blurt out the words from the seemingly-premature conclusion that mind has already jumped at.

“Is your name Lyra by any chance?” I ask as she moves away from me.

She looks back at me, surprise and confusion written all over her face as she approaches me. “Yes, my name is Lyra,” she answered.

“Lyra Moulin?” I pressed.

“No,” she said to my surprise. “It’s Cormier, but how do you know my father’s last name?”

I disregard her question and instead asked her, “Where is your mother?”

“I don’t know,” she said, obviously getting impatient as she runs her hands through her hair. “I’m actually looking for her,” she added. “I was at the bar and I saw her here from there. I was getting drinks for us and then I turn back and she’s not here anymore.”

“Delphine’s here?” I ask, unable to believe what she’s saying, unable to believe that the woman who inspired all these is actually inside this gallery.

“Okay, hold it, do you know my parents? Because if you do, maybe you can explain what I’m doing here,” she said.

“I don’t, ah...um...” I stammered as I began frantically searching the room for any sign of Delphine.

“We’re on vacation. One minute we were at a salon, reading a magazine and a newspaper; the next thing I knew my mother is walking so fast to get here. I don’t get it,” she said before drinking her glass of water. “You didn’t answer my question,” she then said. “Do you know my parents?”

“I’m an old friend of your mother’s,” I said without thinking.

“Well that explains half of it,” she said putting down the glasses on a nearby table. “I think she left already, I don’t see her anywhere here,” she concluded. “Look, I need to go look for her. I’ll tell her you said hi,” she hurriedly said without even asking who I am.

Panic and a sense of urgency gripped me as Lyra tries to wiggle out of the conversation and leave the gallery. “Wait!” I said while immediately grabbing a piece of paper on a table near us. “Do you have a pen?” I asked Lyra. She opens her handbag and fishes out a blue ballpoint pen which she handed to me. I take it and quickly wrote down my studio’s address and phone number. I return her pen with the folded piece of paper. "Would you give her that, please? Please?" I said, a bit taken aback when I feel my tears suddenly rolling down my cheeks.

She looks at me with bewilderment, confused as to how our small talk quickly escalated to something emotional. She nods and puts the pen and paper in her bag before heading for the door. “I have to go,” she hurriedly said, quite unsure if she should try to offer me some comfort before she leaves. I urge her to go, my eyes still silently pleading for her to pass on my note to her mother. She takes one last look at me from behind the glass door separating the gallery from the outside world before she disappeared.

“Delphine,” I hear myself say as I watch Lyra walk away. “Please,” I utter amidst the tears - a silent plea to the universe to allow our paths to cross again.

\-----

I got out of the gallery more confused than entranced by the art exhibit that Maman so desperately wanted to see. While the paintings are clearly the product of a talented artist with a unique take on nature and ranch life, any fascination I had has been overshadowed by questions. The artist - Cosima Niehaus according to the flyer I got at the gallery entrance - seems to know me and my parents. And while she claims to be a friend of Maman’s from way back, this is the first time I’ve seen her or heard about her.

And then there was the note she wrote for Maman. I am still surprised at the hurried, almost desperate way she scribbled on that piece of paper, the way her voice cracked when she asked me to pass it along, and the tears she let out. Just who is this woman and what does she have to do with Maman? 

I set aside the unanswered questions because I have bigger worries on my plate. Where did Maman go? I look from side to side, trying to make her out from the throngs of people on the street. I convince myself that it would be easy to spot her – almost everybody’s wearing their chosen Halloween costumes tonight and Maman in casual wear would have stuck out like a sore thumb. I pace around Geary Street and I keep an eye out for a blonde woman wearing a blue sweater. I also check the small alleys surrounding the buildings – hoping that Maman is just around the corner sneaking in a cigarette break. I don’t even think she knows that I know about her habit. It takes a smoker to know another smoker they said, but I haven’t even started smoking when I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke coming from Maman’s bedroom window one early morning while I was sneaking in to the house after meeting Gabi at our old barn.

“This is not the time for off-tangent memories,” I remind myself. After another futile search in another alley, I can’t help but think that the worst has happened. Maybe she got mugged? Kidnapped? Stabbed? Lost?

Worried for my mother and overwhelmed by a city I am not familiar with, I scoop my lighter out of my pocket and grab a cigarette from my bag. I take long, quick drags, knowing that I have to keep walking to look for Maman. “No, she’s a strong woman who can take care of herself,” I thought to myself halfway through the cigarette. “She’s good with directions, she can trace her way back to Gabi’s apartment,” I tell myself after stubbing out the stick on a grimy wall.

As I put the pack and lighter in my bag, a faint streetlight gave me a glimpse of the white paper that Cosima asked me to give to Maman. I considered opening it to get answers, but stopped myself from doing so. Instead, I walked again and picked up my pace to check other alleys and streets. “Maman first, questions later,” I say to myself, figuring I have all kinds of time to ask all my new questions about Cosima and Wyoming once I find her.

\-----

The minute she disappeared from my view, I wanted nothing more than to follow Lyra and help her look for Delphine. I know the city like the back of my hand, I know I can help. I was a couple of feet away from the coat check when Shay comes back hoping to introduce me to someone.

“Cosima, this is Arthur. He’s representing an art collector who’s very interested with Painting 26. He wants to know more about -”.

“It’s not for sale,” I said, cutting her off with surprising conviction and snark. Now that I know that it might be Delphine who was Shay’s first potential buyer for this work, I want to hold on to it in the hopes that I can give it to her personally.

Shay gave Arthur a polite smile before sidling up to me and whispering, “What the hell, Babe? Whatever happened to ‘three more to go’?”

I glance around me and said, “There are two more paintings available, those two are for sale – that one isn’t,” I said emphasizing my decision by pointing to the painting that Delphine liked.

“Cosima, is something wrong?” Shay asked, puzzled about the sudden shift in my mood. “Is it the speech? Are you nervous? We can request Paule to -”

“It’s not that,” I said silently. “Just...just don’t sell that painting, okay?”

“Why?” Shay pressed while grabbing my shoulders to get me to look at her.

“I don’t have to explain why,” I said. “It’s my art, it’s my decision.”

All Shay can do is nod, the hurt and confusion evident on her face. “We’ll talk later when you’re more yourself,” she said before turning her attention to Arthur to try and sweet talk him into looking at the two other paintings.

With Shay busy with a client again, I make my way to the exit. Outside, I try to look for Lyra but I was too late and she’s no longer there. Just as I was about to decide if I should look for her or go to my studio to wait, a group of gallery interns huddled by the entrance on a smoke break saw me and asked me where I’m going. When I shrugged my shoulders, they reminded me that the program is about to start while they playfully escorted me back inside.

As soon as I got back in, a gaggle of reporters and art critics took turns asking me all sorts of questions and congratulating me for the exhibit’s success. After what seems like hours, the music finally dies and the gallery founder and director took to the makeshift stage to thank everyone for coming and to proudly announce that 24 of the 26 exhibited works have been sold.

“And now,” the gallery founder said, “let’s hear it from the artist of the hour, Cosima Niehaus.”

A round of applause welcomes me as I step on stage. Hours before tonight’s event, I couldn’t even light my joint because my hands sweat and shook at the thought of speaking in front of all these people. But the speech is the farthest thing on my mind now, the need to get it over and done with so I can go to my studio and wait for a phone call that may never come becoming my immediate priority. 

I had a speech ready - a speech I practiced in front of the mirror and in front of Shay. But as I took the mic from the proud gallery founder, I decided to shuck the prepared speech and just wing it. 

“Hi there,” I began, “I’m Cosima. Thank you for coming here tonight.”

Deciding to go off the cuff meant that I have to speak from the heart, something I’ve never done after Delphine. In spite of the uncertainty, I speak again: “The paintings surrounding us are the most personal works I’ve ever made and shown. It’s about my own experience as a rancher’s daughter way back in 1957 when I was still trying to find my place under the sun.”

I look around me and see Shay and the entire room hanging on to my every word. I take a deep breath and continued. “I chose this subject as my way of letting go of that time,” I confessed. “For years, I’ve done my best to run away from the Summer of 1957, to move past something that happened more than 26 years ago. When I started filling this collection with my works, I was so sure that not only was I ready to move on, I also wanted nothing more than to finally let it go to the highest bidders.”

As I try to put across my words, the memory of Delphine reciting her favorite poem in the highlands for me plays in my mind. I had tears in my eyes then and I have tears in my eyes now as I continue speaking. “Now that this exhibit is about to end, I realize that I can never really let go of that summer. Whether I admit it or not, it has shaped me in ways I never thought possible. Whether I accept it or not, it has left a mark in my life and I will forever hold onto the memories of it. That summer made me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before and in the years that followed. I’m thankful to the universe for allowing me to experience that summer. And now...”

I pause, trying to come to grips with the possible impact of what I’m about to disclose to a room full of people who do not know the real me, who only know the version of me that constantly pretends that I’m not carrying any baggage from a relationship that should have lasted years.

“And now...now is when I stop running away from it. Now is when I start running towards it.”

I mumble a final thank you and I hear clapping and mumbling, my vague speech – which ironically is a moment of pure clarity for me - probably causing confusion among the audience. I shake the hands of people whose faces I don’t see as I make a mad dash out of the gallery to walk towards my studio. I know it’s only 10 minutes away from here, but I couldn’t get there fast enough. Finally, I see the building from a few blocks away and I rummage inside my bag for my keys.

Once inside, I head for the stairs, not bothering to wait for the slow, creaking, old-fashioned elevator servicing the building. A few breathless minutes later I am finally at my door. I hurriedly slide in my keys, turn the door handle, and turn on the lights, shucking away my bag and coat at the nearest available chair.

I got home to a messy studio and a blinking answering machine.

“Cosima?” a breathy, familiar voice said after I pressed play. “It’s me. I got your note...”

There was a pause on the recording before a muffled sob emerged and Delphine spoke again.

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”


	6. November 1, 1983 – Inside the Artist’s Studio

A good two hours had passed since I got up from bed and I now find myself hunched by the table, aching hand and all, unable to stop writing the details of last night in my journal. Even though my body is tired from last night’s unscheduled adventure, sleeping soundly was out of the realms of possibility given my racing mind and my eager heart - both anxiously anticipating what this day holds. 

I have had two cups of coffee since waking up but I can still taste the nicotine and alcohol from last night’s aimless walk. When I emerged from the rubble of my crumbling dreams of Cosima, I found myself feeling completely numb in the middle of Sutter Street. I was lucky to stumble on a taxi queue outside a bar and after a good 30 minutes of waiting, I got into a cab. The cabbie was telling me how perfect my timing was - that I queued up before the line got too long and unmanageable. “Lots of drunks going to parties tonight,” he said in his heavily-accented English. I politely smiled and nodded, hoping that that’s enough for him to know that I just want to be left alone. He didn’t say a word after and for that, he got a generous tip when we reached my destination.

It was a little over 10 p.m. when I got to Gabi’s apartment. I ring the bell but there was no answer. I waited on the steps outside with only my cigarettes for company, hoping somebody enters the complex so I can at least climb up and wait by the apartment’s door. I must have smoked five or six sticks before I saw a familiar figure, also smoking a cigarette, walking towards me. I quickly stubbed my half-consumed stick when I realized it was Lyra.

“Maman!” She said with a worried and weary face. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I just needed to get out of there,” I said, covering my eyes with my palms to try to hide the swelling caused by my tears. “I tried looking for you before I left but I couldn’t find you.”

Lyra then sat beside me as she ran both her hands through her hair. “You scared the shit out of me back there,” she confessed - the irritation and fear evident in her voice.

I took a chance and looked into my daughter’s eyes where I saw the quick transition of anger to relief. “I’m sorry, ma poulette,” was all I could say, quickly disregarding and forgiving her tone and language. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, hoping that that’s enough of an apology for what I put her through.

We then sat close to each other, waiting until Gabi and Krystal returns. We exchanged questioning and curious looks - probably because we’re trying to figure out if it’s okay to light up and smoke in front of the other. The silence between us was disturbed when Lyra rummaged inside her bag for what I thought was a cigarette. What she said next caught me off guard. 

“I spoke with the artist – Cosima Niehaus. You two seem to know each other,” she said.

“We go way back,” I said, knowing for certain amidst the confusion that now is not the right time to tell her about me and Cosima.

I saw Lyra raise her eyebrows, clearly not satisfied with my answer. She let out an exasperated breath and said, “She asked me to give you this,” her hands clutching a piece of paper that looks like a flyer from the exhibit. I unfolded it and my eyes went wide when I saw what’s inside: “Delphine – Please”, Cosima wrote, followed by an address and a telephone number. My gaze shifted from the folded flyer to Lyra who’s recounting what happened when I left the gallery.

“She knew who I am, Maman. She knew Papa’s name and then she asked about you. I was just making small talk...I didn’t really have to say anything specific – she just seems to know. When I told her that you left, she panicked and began writing that,” she said as she pointed to the paper.

“Sorry, I have to make a phone call,” I said as I stood up. I have noticed a telephone booth just down the block and as I stood up to check my pockets for quarters, Lyra was already handing me a couple of coins.

“Maman,” she said with a surprisingly authoritative tone before handing me the quarters, “You will tell me what this is about, yes?” 

I nod. “In time, ma poulette,” I said before I walked briskly to the booth. I dialled the number in the paper, nervous when the call connected and I heard the line ringing. I felt a little bit of relief when I got her answering machine. After the beep, I said without thinking that I would be at the address she gave the next day. I wanted to say “Please wait for me, Cosima,” but I caught myself before uttering those words. While her note is a glimmer of an oasis for my arid heart, it does not change what I saw in the gallery – Cosima is attached and she has moved on, something that I should have done after our summer and in the years after Christophe’s passing.

I close the black notebook after I’ve jotted down my thoughts and re-written Cosima’s address and number for the third time. I have assiduously kept journals ever since our separation and most of what I wrote were about her and about the memories and feelings she made possible. I started writing simply because I missed her terribly, but over time, I continued keeping a journal just to remind myself that in this lifetime, Cosima and I happened; that in this lifetime, I got to experience how it feels to love someone completely and be loved in the same way. When all is said and done, at least I got to feel that and nothing can take that away from me – not my marriage, not Cosima’s relationship, and not our years of separation. 

“Hey, Hon,” Krystal said as she gets a glass and opens the small fridge to get some orange juice. “You leaving already?”

“Yes,” I said as I wear my gray scarf around my neck. An hour after calling Cosima, Gabi and Krystal came home, worried and confused as to where we went. Lyra, who probably didn’t know how to explain what happened, apologized and made up an excuse about losing track of time after visiting galleries and museums. I begged off from today’s San Francisco tour when we finally got into the apartment because I said that I bumped into an old friend and that we’re meeting over coffee to catch up. 

“Take care, Hon,” Krystal said before taking a gulp of her juice. I stood up from the breakfast nook and took a quick look at Krystal’s bandaged right toe. “Does it still hurt?” I said to my friend as I wear my coat and sling my bag.

“A little,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “It’s so much better than yesterday though,” she reassures me. “Go, you don’t want to be late,” she said with a smile.

After saying a silent thank you for Krystal’s injured toe, I went over to the sprawled-out sleeping bag to give Lyra, who’s still sound asleep, a kiss on her forehead. I then left the apartment, hurried downstairs, and walked to my car. I pull out a map of San Francisco before starting the engine, figuring that I have at least 30 minutes of driving to get my mind and heart to sift through the things I can and can’t say to the person that my heart has held onto for the last 26 years.

\-----

I toss and turn on my bed, waiting for the sun to rise and for this day to start. If I were to put a figure on the number of hours I slept, I would say I got four hours of sleep – max. I keep coming back to that time last night. Had I been circling the gallery and mingling with guests like I was supposed to, maybe I could have seen her the minute she entered the room. Had I been a little unpredictable by doing as I was told and playing by the book, maybe Shay wouldn’t have found me that easily – I wouldn’t be by the bar as she expected, trying to calm my nerves with a flute of champagne. Instead, I could have been looking right at Delphine’s hazel eyes - hoping to find the words to convey that after all these years she’s still the picture in my mind; that for the past 26 years, she still has a firm grip on my heart in spite of her absence in my life. 

When I gave up on going back to sleep, I got up to make myself a cup of tea. I take my usual seat by the studio’s window and as the heat from my tea fogs my glasses, I keep replaying the near miss in my head - how the universe conspired for me to miss out on Delphine, only to run into her daughter instead. While I would have wanted nothing more than to run in to her, I’m still thankful that Lyra was with her last night. If it wasn’t for her, I would have never known that Delphine was there. Who knows what could have happened (or not happen) if she wasn’t there?

I look around the studio, trying to decide whether I should clean up before Delphine arrives or if I should leave things as they are in an effort to try to not make a big deal out of it. I drink the last of my tea and panicked a little when I realized that I have no other drink or food to offer her once she gets here. _“So much for playing it cool,”_ I said to myself as I get my coat hanging by the door and quickly reach for a pair of loose-wearing pants in the nearby dresser. Checking my pockets for my keys and for some money, I leave the studio in a hurry to get to a market just down the block. I promised to be quick so I can get back here as soon as possible – given my propensity for bad timing, I may miss Delphine’s arrival if I dilly-dally.

The studio is never designed to entertain guests - its sole purpose is to be a quiet and private place for me to get some work done. Sort of like an office for an artist. The walls are pale white, it has no couch (though that would not have been the case if there’s space available), and it has a small fridge that is rarely used except to keep take-out and delivered pizza edible for the next few days. But with Delphine coming, I wanted to offer her whatever she could want. So the first thing I grabbed when I got to the market is a can of coffee and an inexpensive French press, remembering that she usually preferred coffee over tea during our time in the cabin

I then chose some fruits – a few oranges and some apples just in case she wanted a snack. Then I was off to the breads section where I got a loaf of brioche and a cheese plate. I also got some smoked ham so I can offer her lunch without leaving the studio. As I was making my way to the checkout counter, I passed by the spirits aisle. I got a bottle of wine, thinking to myself that if Delphine wouldn’t want a glass I can always down it alone while I paint.

I walked quickly back to the complex. I thought I was making good time until I looked at my watch and noticed that I’ve spent more than 30 minutes in the market. I get in to the elevator, balancing the bags of groceries in my arms before setting them down on the hallway to open my door. I was almost finished arranging the food in my studio - trying to create the illusion that they’ve been there all along - when I noticed my blinking answering machine.

I have never been more nervous about a message as I am now. This could be Delphine, calling from wherever she’s staying in San Fran, informing me that she changed her mind about coming over to meet me. It could be Delphine calling from phone booth down the street to tell me that she was here but I wasn’t so she left because she has to be somewhere else more important, with someone else more important like Christophe.

This could be the phone call that tells me that I’ve missed my chance with her yet again.

I press play and I close my eyes in relief when I heard Shay’s voice instead of Delphine’s. This is probably one of the rare times when I preferred Shay over her.

“Cosima,” she said in an uncharacteristic neutral tone, “You didn’t come home last night so I figured you’re there. I did as you demanded – the last painting was not sold, it’s being kept in the gallery. You left without saying goodbye...Call me when you get this message. I feel like we have to talk.”

I dial the number to her apartment and wait for her to pick up the phone. “Hello?” She said.

“Hey, it’s me. I got your message. Thank you for not selling the painting,” I said.

“Is something wrong?” She said, agitated and perplexed. “Why did you just leave like that? Why didn’t you come home here last night? I had to make up excuses for you last night...”

“Sorry,” I said, not really knowing what else to say. “I...have to be here,” I added, “I need to see something through...”

Sensing that I wouldn’t tell her details and specifics, she let out a breath. “Are we okay, Cosima?” She asked me point blank.

“Can I talk to you later?” I requested.

“Okay,” she said. “But I have a lot of questions and I expect answers,” she added as if it’s a threat before saying a weak “Bye”.

I put down the phone and look around my studio. I noticed the last dandelion drawing I made for Delphine on her birthday almost a year ago among the piles of canvas occupying the corner of the studio. I really don’t need Delphine to come back to my life for me to know that I have to end things with Shay. I tried my best these past few months and even so, I couldn’t get to that place where I feel that what I have with her is enough. And while our relationship as artist and curator is good, our relationship as lovers has been lacking since we started. It’s mainly my fault – starting a relationship with someone when I know I won’t be able to give all of me, when I’m well aware as to who would make my heart flutter and who would make me feel complete. My reaction to Delphine’s presence in last night’s exhibit was merely the last sign that regardless of what happens today, I know that Shay and I are over. 

It’s almost 9 in the morning. She didn’t specify what time she’d be here when she left a message last night so I pass the time by tidying up the studio a little – making the bed, washing the mugs and cups, and organizing the drawing papers on my desk. When that’s done, I took out the thin instruction manual for the newly-bought French press that’s now sitting on the thin perch. I read through the manual while sneaking a few looks outside the window.

“Please be here,” I hear myself say, quite unsure once Delphine gets here if I want to say a final goodbye for closure or ask her to stay here forever.

\----- 

Apart from unknowingly entering a one-way street and getting a little lost because of it, the drive from Berkeley to Ellis Street was quite straightforward. Finding a parking spot was not as simple though and I had to circle the block to look for a garage where I can leave my car for an indefinite period of time. I found one in a nearby street and though I could have settled for street parking conveniently in front of Cosima’s apartment building, the idea of moving my car or going downstairs to feed the parking meter after my allotted time runs out didn’t appeal to me because I intend to spend whatever time I can with Cosima.

After I left my car keys and paid the initial fee, I asked the attendant for directions to Cosima’s address. He said it’s a five minute walk – just head straight and take a left when I see Ellis Street. “It’s one of those old-timey buildings, you can’t miss it,” he added as he hands me a claim stub for my car.

I walk the unfamiliar streets of San Francisco, thinking to myself that I should have brought something for my host – a bottle of wine, perhaps? No, that’s too forward. Flowers maybe? I ended up settling for a small bouquet of white and yellow daisies displayed in front of a small market.

As I approach the turn towards Cosima’s address, I can’t help but remember the day we left for the highlands. I can’t help but reminisce how I saw her from a distance while she was talking with her dad - how her enthusiastic arm gestures captured my attention even from afar. She made this little wave that went in contrast with her wide smile when she saw me sitting on the car, ready to head out to the highlands. I was quite surprised with myself when I sprinted towards her - under the guise that I was excited to introduce her to Christophe, when in reality I just inexplicably can’t wait to see her again, be near her again. I can still see how her smile subtly disappeared when Christophe held me close while we were talking. I remember how protective I got when he said she’s an odd duck.

“_I’m not sending you into the mountains to play house, am I?_” I remember Christophe teased before he left me in Paradise Ranch. Only there was no playing involved because I seriously altered the course of my life that summer. And to be honest, I may have aged, raised a daughter, and now own a ranch, but deep down I’m still that newly-orphaned 23-year-old who married in haste, moved to an unfamiliar town, and fell in love with someone else while carrying a child. I really haven’t gotten back up from that feeling and from that time .

It wasn’t long before I was standing in front of Cosima’s apartment. I read a small plaque in front of it that stated the historical significance of the building – how it was built in 1915 in Art Deco architecture, and how near it is to other San Francisco sites that I’ve only heard of as a tourist. I look at the black iron gate separating me from the main door of the building, welded into it are doorbells for all apartment units.

With sweaty palms and a thudding heart, I press the button for Unit 307 twice, too nervous to even look up and see if Cosima is peering out the window and waiting for me to arrive back into her life. 

\----

I stay firmly planted on the chair by the window like a hawk keeping a close eye on its territory. I remember how I use to sit like this after finishing my yearly dandelion paintings, allowing myself to savor the illusion of Delphine’s nearness even just for that one day. The anticipation of her arrival – how at least that part of my dream would become a reality today – kept me from moving away from my seat. 

Finally I see her – emerging from Jones Street and walking down my block with a bouquet of flowers in her hand. Sarah’s right because from where I’m sitting, I can see that the curls that I used to run my fingers through have been replaced by straight blonde hair – giving her a more dignified and formal look from afar. I continue looking down to see that she’s wearing a blue scarf and a black pea coat. She seemed to have smiled when she got to my building’s door. 

I wait for her to ring the apartment, momentarily losing my sights on her when I ran through the button by my door, eagerly waiting to push it and let her in. After minutes of silence, I quickly paced back to my window to see what’s with the holdup. For a while I was afraid that she left, but when I looked down I saw that she was still there, reading something in front of the building. Finally, she rang the bell and I ran across the studio, giving a lingering look on the button before pushing it.

I went back to the window to see if she went in already. When I see nobody outside the complex, I debated whether I should stay put and wait for her to knock, or if I should wait by the hallway so she wouldn’t have to look at every door for my unit number. By this time, I’ve lost all sense of coolness, so I put on a thin knitted black coat before unlocking my door to wait for Delphine.

My ears were alert for any sounds from the stairwell or from the building’s aged elevator. As I stood by my door, I can’t stop thinking about the first time I saw her in our barn. I was expecting Miss Violet when Dad said he called a vet to help with the lambing. But when one of the ranch hands informed me that the vet has arrived, I was surprised to see a different woman talking with Dad and sitting by the laboring ewe. She was wearing a simple shirt and work pants, and her blonde hair was in a messy ponytail. I only heard a portion of their conversation – something about me being happy that I was right about the ewe and her lamb. I can still remember how my breath hitched when I first saw her face, when her piercing hazel eyes looked my way.

I couldn’t believe it myself - even now that I’m older, more experienced, and more jaded. But the minute I saw her, I knew that I’m doomed to love her.

I find it quite funny how my emotions from 26 years ago have resurfaced now once I heard delicate footsteps and murmurs coming from the stairs.

\----

I rang the bell twice, fidgeting as I wait to hear her voice from the small speaker above the buttons. Instead of her voice, a long buzzing sound emerged and the front door was suddenly unlocked. Once inside the complex, I passed by the rows of mailboxes and checked for her name on the box that said 307 - _C. Niehaus_ the name plate below the apartment number stated. I considered taking the elevator before finally deciding to climb up the stairs instead, buying me some time to collect my thoughts and control myself from running into Cosima's arms after over two decades of not seeing her.

I start my ascent quietly, running my free hand through my hair – thinking if she would recognize me without the blonde ringlets. I press my hand on my coat, making sure that its wrinkle and dirt free. By the time I get to the third landing, I began to remind myself of the new realities that I have to deal with – _“She’s with Shay,”_ I whisper to myself. _“She’s with Shay,”_ I mumble again when I got to the second floor. _“She’s with Shay,”_ I reminded myself, a bit louder than my previous pronouncements, after stopping in the middle of the last flight of stairs that would lead me to her apartment.

I take a deep breath when I get to the third floor. There’s no turning back now as I look for Unit 307. It wasn’t hard to find because among the rows of apartment doors, there was only one that is open, and in there, I can see Cosima halfway out of her unit - waiting for me to show up. Before I knew it, she’s looking right at me – her stance still as relaxed as I remembered when she first welcomed me in their house for breakfast.

“Hi,” I meekly said with a nervous wave, unsure whether I should come in for a hug or a friendly kiss on the cheek, settling instead on handing her the daisies.

“Thanks,” Cosima said while she looked at the flowers and caught a whiff of the bouquet. “Come in,” she motioned with her hands as she enters her apartment. Inside, there are two large windows that naturally illuminate the space, giving me a clearer and brighter picture of Cosima that I didn’t get last night. Her hair is youthfully styled in what Lyra said to be dreadlocks and she has a nose ring. She is still wearing pretty much the same style of glasses that is snug perfectly on her face. I can’t help but be drawn more into her caramel-hued eyes that are now adorned with intricate make up, remembering how I use to swim in the comforting affection of her gaze. The way she wraps herself in the cardigan she’s wearing made me see that she’s been keeping herself fit all these years.

The Cosima I see now reinforces the image of her that I saw last night. After all these years, a simple glimpse is more than enough to make my heart flutter like a butterfly in a sunny garden. Funny, how I still feel like this 26 years down the road.

“Would you like something to drink?” She asked as I unloop my scarf and unbutton my coat. She reaches out to hang it in a dresser near the now-closed door, her fingers brushing against my arm giving me goose bumps. I quickly run my hands on my button-down shirt, hoping that there are no obvious creases. She caught me fixing myself and she smiles - a subtle, shy smile very different from the beaming laughter I got used to during our time together in the highlands.

“A cup of coffee would be great,” I said and she nods.

I watch her some more as she goes to her kitchenette to lay down the flowers, heat some water, and takes scoops of ground coffee that she puts in the French press. I can’t take my eyes away from her hands – how those hands have made me feel all sorts of emotions: comfort, compassion, rage, and pleasure. My eyes danced from her hands to her apartment that – while bare of furnishings and displays – feels warm and lived in. She fumbles a little as she pours in the water and stirs before adding the remaining hot water to the container.

“It’s nice to see you,” she said as she waits for the coffee to bloom. “I can’t believe I just met Lyra last night – all grown up,” she quipped keeping her distance by sitting by her easel near one of the windows, the sunlight hitting her face, giving her eyes the warmth I have yearned for since our separation.

“Yes,” I said as I sit on a green lounge chair on the other side of the apartment with my hands clasped and legs crossed. “She’s going to be a doctor in a few years,” I added with pride.

“A doctor, wow,” she replied, “You must be very proud.”

“Yes,” I answered. “She’s my one treasure in this world, my truest love...” – a quip that made her smile but also got her confused, judging from the way her brows furrowed a little as she stood up to push the French press’ plunger. She walks across the room to hand me a cup of black coffee after saying no to her offer for sugar and cream.

“Some things never change,” she mumbles as she re-takes her seat, “you still prefer your coffee black.”

I take a sip of her coffee and grimaced without meaning to. “Yes, some things never change,” I said.

“Is my coffee still bad after all these years?” She mischievously asks with a wry smile that ensnared the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

“Oui,” I said absentmindedly and laughed, biting my bottom lip before taking another sip of her coffee. “It’s okay though,” I backtracked, “I miss your bad coffee,” the words came out before I can even filter my thoughts. 

She nods and bows her head, looking at the floor with what looks like a nostalgic smile.

\-----

I had to look at Delphine twice, thrice while she wasn’t looking just to make myself believe that she is really here inside my studio. The curls may have been gone but her hair just made the impossible possible – it made her look even more beautiful. Underneath the coat, she is wearing black slacks and a white polo, buttoned all the way up to her neck. She looks elegant, certainly more elegant than when we were in work clothes during our time in the cabin. 

I keep trying to catch a glimpse of her while she carefully moves around my studio, noticing how time never really changed the woman I fell in love with. She still has the same nervous laugh, the same hazel eyes, and the same mannerisms that drove me wild. She’s still as breathtaking as I remembered her to be.

I caught myself filing all these new details of Delphine and snapped out of it. “What are you doing in San Fran?” I asked. “Lyra said you guys are here on vacation...”

“Oui,” Delphine said. “My friend – Krystal, her daughter is moving back again to Berkeley. We just tagged along for the trip,” she answered.

“She said you’re back in Canada now...” I uttered, making sure not to disclose that I know about her trips to Wyoming.

“In Pemberton, not La Tuque,” she cleared. “We have a small ranch there - I’m running it with Krystal’s husband, Scott.”

_‘Scott and Krystal’_, I think to myself – ‘_must be the Smiths in Cormier, Moulin, Smith Cattle,_’ I deduced. “How is the ranch business?” I asked, the awkwardness of our conversation quietly re-emerging after we shared a laugh over my still non-existent coffee-making skills.

“It’s good...busy,” she said. “As you know, there are really no vacations when you’re running a ranch,” she added. “But Krystal’s son is helping us now, so it has been easier than before when we were just starting.”

“And Christophe? How is he?” I asked without even the slightest hint of hesitation. I figured that it’s probably best to just rip off the band aid from the wound, get it over and done with so I can remind myself that she’s with someone else; so I can move on and stop wandering if we could ever be together again.

I suddenly feel pangs of guilt about asking her about her husband when she met my question with silence and a glare shaded with sadness.

\-----

There’s no use denying Cosima an answer to her question about Christophe. Still, I clammed up - not expecting her to ask about him so early, so suddenly in my visit. My thoughts of Christophe nowadays are anchored on how difficult it was for Lyra when she lost her father. Thinking of how Lyra had to deal with that loss always makes me sad, as if my Maman died all over again; as if I’m betraying Christophe all over again in every day that I stayed married to him; as if coming down from the highlands again with Cosima, heartbroken and confused, refusing to even look at me.

Amidst the sadness, I found my voice and answered her question. “Christophe had passed away...” I said. In the few months that I got to spend with her, I have known that Cosima is a kind, gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt anybody – at least not on purpose. The way her eyes look now – how she’s trying to understand what happened to me so she can genuinely empathize - goes to show that she’s still as how I remember her.

“I’m sorry,” Cosima said. “How? When did this happen?” 

I clear my throat, wanting to answer her clearly so that I wouldn’t have to repeat my words. “11 years ago,” I started, “there was an accident at one of the oil rigs he was inspecting. A crane gave way and killed 5 people, and he -”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, cutting me off from my misery. I look at her with misty eyes from across the room and noticed that she has stood up from her chair – as if she’s weighing her options: approach me and offer a shoulder to lean on, or just stay where she is - keeping herself within arm’s length from the lonely widow.

Afraid that I’m going to cry my eyes out at remembering how hard it was for me to tell my daughter that her Papa had died, I decided to stand up and preoccupy myself with something else. I wipe my tears as I walk to the corner of her apartment beside where I was seated where I saw some of her unfinished paintings.

“I meant to tell you,” I said trying to smile while I gently lay a hand on the painting of a dandelion that’s on top of the pile, “that I’m so proud of you. I always knew you have a talent, a gift. I’m happy that a whole lot of other people are seeing just how amazing you are...” I bite my lip and look at her - she has already taken her usual seat and is now toying with the edges of her cardigan, “how amazing you are as an artist.”

\----

I feel so guilty for being selfish. I brought up Christophe for my benefit, and now as I see with my own eyes the pain and loss that Delphine has to endure all these years, I realized that what damned us was not her marriage, nor what people would say if they knew about us.

What damned us is my selfishness.

When I couldn’t get what I wanted from her in our last day in the cabin – a full-blown relationship which, to me, was only possible if we stayed in the highlands – I ran as far away from her and from Wyoming as possible. Even in the last time we were together in 1962 when Kira saw her during my mother’s funeral, I couldn’t be content with what she gave me which was all she could give me, given her responsibilities and attachments. I always wanted more of and from Delphine without even thinking about how my demands can alter her life. The words I said then in our barn once we got back to the lowlands echoed in my head now –

“_I’m not going to run after you, Delphine,_” – and I never did.

“_I can’t spend my life pining away for someone who doesn’t want me,_” – I can’t and my resolve not to pine was strong...But why does it feel that I did? That I still do?

I thought to myself that the least I can do now is offer her some comfort. But when I stood up to hold her, I was suddenly paralyzed with guilt. Am I going to hold her for her benefit or my benefit?

Would I be so eager to touch her if Christophe is still alive?

Then she looked at my paintings and saw the last drawing I was looking at before she arrived today – Dandelion, 1982. I realized then that the dandelions I’ve drawn for her may be the most unselfish things I’ve done that involved her. I spoke before I lost my nerve.

“I made that for you,” I said rather mildly. She looks at me with her big, puppy-like hazel eyes, urging me to explain what I just said. “I drew a dandelion every year since...our summer,” I said, fully aware that this is the first time that I’m acknowledging our history today. 

“Why?” Delphine asked now holding the dandelion painting with both hands.

“It’s my small way of remembering you,” I confessed, the tears now forming in the corners of my eyes. “Dandelions grant wishes, so every year I draw one on your birthday so I can wish that you’re happy and well wherever you are...” I stopped myself from saying that apart from wishing that she’s alright, I also wish on my drawn dandelions that we get another shot.

I look at Delphine, trying to figure out what she thought of what I just said. She has returned the dandelion back on the pile, but not before tracing the flowers with her fingers.

“Cosima,” she said, fully aware that this is the first time she has uttered my name since seeing each other again, “Can I ask you for a favor?”

\-----

I tried to make myself believe that curiosity is the main reason why I went to Cosima’s apartment today. I’ve been convincing myself that I am here now simply because I want to know how she’s doing and what has she been up to. I comfort myself in the idea that I’ll be content and I’ll be fine by simply knowing that she’s well and happy. Deep down though, I know that I’m here for closure. I didn’t want to consider it, but after what I saw last night in the gallery, I know that I have to be at peace with the reality that she has moved on.

I should try to move on too, but then she told me about the dandelions and my heart can’t help but melt at the sincerity of her words and gesture. _“I wanted March 9th to be in my sights too,”_ allowing myself to think it but not say it out loud.

I realize now that we’re so close yet choosing to be as far away from each other as possible, that if we are to really end today, maybe we could try to finish even just one of the things we started back when it was just the two of us in a secluded cabin in the middle of the Bighorn highlands; back when we dread any notion of separation or distance between us.

“A favor,” Cosima said with a nod and crossed arms, “okay, tell me what you want.”

I let go of the dandelion painting and sit back on the chair. “Can you draw me?” I asked, remembering the unfinished sketch that I tucked away in her sketchbook many, many years ago. The same unfinished sketch that is the product of the last time we were together - the product of our last argument before she went to Florida and before I went back to the house that my husband bought for us with the intention of starting a new life after La Tuque. 

If Cosima was surprised by my request, she never showed it. With a nod, she proceeds to open one of the shelves in a nearby desk to get a handful of charcoal pencils. From the same receptacle, she grabs a box cutter and she pushes it up to expose a small portion of the blade. She then takes a firm grip on one of the pencils with her left hand, while her other hand holds the cutter. She uses her left thumb to guide the blade to gently push the wood off the pencil. When she had three charcoal pencils sharpened, she grabbed a sketchbook from a locked shelf and swiveled her chair to face me.

“Where do you want me?” I asked her when her eyes met mine.

\-----

“Where do you want me?” she asks.

“_I want you here, Delphine. Just here, here in my life,_” I thought to myself, but instead said: “Whatever and wherever you’re comfortable with.”

She nods and proceeds to the studio’s small kitchenette to re-heat the water in the kettle. She washed away the remnants of the first batch of coffee that I made from the French press before drying it with a dish cloth. She then takes scoopfuls of ground coffee and put them inside the beaker. She poured in the water, waits a minute before filling it to the brim with the remaining hot water, and closed it with the lid. She waits before filtering the coffee and pouring herself another cup.

Drawing her has given me the opportunity to greedily watch her every move – the practiced motions of something as simple as making coffee; the way she seems to be singing a song or two before pressing the French press’ filter; the way her hands move when doing something as mundane as washing a dish. How I want all these little things to be part of my everyday life.

With both hands, she holds onto the steaming mug of coffee as she sits in the studio’s lounge chair – which is usually just the chair where I place my bag, coat, and dirty clothes. She blows on the brown liquid before taking a sip - the face she makes at a cup of coffee made exactly to her liking is just pure bliss for me. She goes on to hold the cup with her right hand as she tries to get more comfortable by unbuttoning two of the topmost buttons of her blouse. That simple, innocent act sending shivers to my spine, making me wet my lips subtly.

“Wait,” I said as she held on to the second button that’s already halfway out of the buttonhole. “Hold that pose,” I instructed when she looked at me with slight confusion.

I let my eyes take in all the features of Delphine’s beautiful face. I take pleasure from seeing the beauty marks that remained; her long eyelashes making her big hazel eyes even more enchanting; her long, creamy neck and her straight blonde hair; her nose – and the memory of how it bumps with mine when we kiss; her lips – and the memory of kisses, whispers, and whimpers from years past.

I don’t dare take my eyes away from her, trusting my hand to transform my happiness at merely being able to gaze at Delphine to a piece of art. Her request to pose for me took me a little by surprise, and while it’s been a while since I have done a figure drawing with an actual model in front of me– I often rely on the visual memory of my chosen subject for figure drawings – I take nothing but enjoyment in the current task at hand.

I thought nothing can burst my bubble until Delphine spoke.

“How long have you and Shay been together?” She asked. 

\----

“Ha?” Cosima said while still looking right at me with familiar intensity and concentration, very similar to how she did from many years ago when we did blind contours in the highlands.

“I saw you and her together yesterday by the bar...” I said, not wanting to spell things out for her. And for the first time since she took out the pencils and sketch pad, she took her eyes away from me to look into the piece of paper resting on her knee.

  
“Three years,” she said, the confirmation of what I suspected to be a long-term relationship weighing heavy on my heart. “We met at the gallery, two years after I moved to San Francisco.” 

“Where have you been before?” I asked then added to seal the subject change: “I heard you were in Florida with your sister come fall of 1957...”

She cocked her head, probably wondering how I knew about Florida, but she’s looking back at me again as she answered. “Yeah, I was in Florida for seven months after the summer...” She paused, as if debating whether or not to expound on Florida or not. “I went to Georgia after – to Savannah first, then to Atlanta. I went to school there and worked for Sarah’s in-laws until I got my degree. Are you okay, like, comfortable?” She then asked pointing to my hand that still’s holding the cup of coffee.

“Oui, ça va,” I said, “though would it be okay if I take a sip every once in a while?” She nodded before I drank almost half of my coffee and posing again.

“Sorry your coffee got cold,” she said pointing at her and the sketchpad, “I haven’t done this kind of figure drawing in a while and I’m a little rusty and slow,” she explained – a statement I find odd given how successful her exhibit seems. 

“Have you always painted? I mean after school in Atlanta...” I asked, wanting to know more about where she’s been in the times we were apart.

“No,” she said as she lets go of the pencil to smudge on the drawing with her thumb. “I was in New York after – I got a job in advertising...” 

“That sounds glamorous,” I quipped as I drink what remains of my coffee.

“No, it’s really not,” she corrected with a chuckle. “I was like...a very skilled secretary, making sketches for the Art Director day in, day out.” She picks the pencil again and continued her drawing. “I got fed up eventually and left. I travelled all over after, anywhere where I can get a job or commissioned work – Mexico, Austin, even Canada,” she said shrugging her shoulders a bit before concentrating back on the drawing. “Eventually, I saved enough money to move here in 1978.” 

I consider my next words, unsure if Cosima will think I’m patronizing her, but I go with it nonetheless - for how many chances do I have left to tell her what I feel or think after today. 

“I am happy that all your dreams have come true, Cosima...It’s good to see you so full of life...so happy,” I said with a reserved, but genuine smile. 

Her right hand stops moving and she looks at me with sharp eyes. For a moment I was sure that I struck a nerve, but then she stood up and walked towards me.

“It’s done.”

\----- 

“_I’m happy that all your dreams have come true,_” Delphine told me. _‘No, not all of them came true,’_ I thought to myself. “_It’s good to see you so happy,_” she said - ‘_you make me happy, Delphine_’.

I seriously considered telling her how I really feel, along with what I was thinking while I was kissing Shay last night at the exhibit – that at the mere sight of one of the more personal paintings that she inspired, I couldn’t even fake an _‘I love you’_ to my girlfriend. I get up from my chair instead to tell her that I’ve finished the drawing. I have no other excuse for my inaction and the words I withheld aside from old habits die hard and I’ve been running away from her and the feelings she brings along for the longest time.

She remains seated on the chair, her eyes wide in anticipation about what’s on my sketchpad. For a moment, I got a bit self-conscious, quite unsure if she would like my work. But there was no backing out once I tore the sketch and handed it to her.

My sketch of Delphine this morning is not my best work – I wasn’t being modest when I said my figure drawing skills are rusty. The picture of her that I put on paper was that of her casually sitting on the chair – her other hand holding a cup of coffee as she unbuttoned her blouse. The smile I drew on her face was one I remember from the rare times I went back to Buffalo after our summer – when I was home late for the holidays and I couldn’t fight the urge to drive to her house. It was when I first saw her with Lyra – they were all bundled up and sitting on their porch as Delphine tries to soothe her daughter by singing to her and gently rocking her to sleep as she sits on her lap. 

“Cosima...” She said with her eyes transfixed on the drawing and one hand over her mouth. “This...you’ve done something really wonderful...” She had tears in her eyes when she finally took her gaze away from the sketch to look at me.

“You can keep it, it’s yours,” I said, torn between wiping her tears with my hands and giving her space to deal with her emotions on her own.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she folds the drawing. “I better go,” she then added before standing up, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from the rest of your day,” she considerably remarked sans eye contact. I step back, silenced by her intent to leave my studio now and as she turned her back on me to open the dresser for her coat and scarf, the echoes of what I said last night played in my head.

_‘Now is when I stop running away from it. Now is when I start running towards it.'_

So I run towards her.

“Delphine...Please don’t go,” I pleaded - the tears I’ve tried to restrain now flowing freely from my eyes as I reach out to wrap my arms around her shoulders from behind. “I just got you back...”

I pressed my entire body on her back, my face sullying her crisp shirt with the tears that fell on my cheeks. I can hear her heart beating fast and I can feel her body tremble at my sudden touch. “Please stay,” I said as I press my lips on her nape. I hear her take in airy breaths before she leaned in to my embrace and tilted her head towards my shoulder. “Cosima...” She sighs while I place tentative kisses on her shoulders as my arms slide to circle around her waist - my hands brushing over the sides of her body.

It wasn’t long before my lips meet hers – the timid kisses becoming hungrier, surer, and more urgent as I slip my tongue and playfully bite her bottom lip. My hands move again, this time to unbutton her shirt, all the while Delphine holds on to me – her hand curling the nape of my neck, pulling me to kiss her all over her neck and face as I remove her blouse. I reached the last button and untucked her shirt from her slacks before sliding it out of her body and letting it pool on the hardwood floor.

For the first time in more than 20 years, I see the constellation of beauty marks on her back in the flesh – an overwhelming sight, especially since I’ve had to make do with just the memories of it in all the years we were apart. I place kisses on them, coasting my lips from one beauty mark to another and trying to map out constellation Orion with my tongue just like before. I feel her shuddering under my touch as all the sentiments I tried to suppress began unraveling.

“God, how I missed you, Delphine,” I said as I unclasp her bra to get my lips on the beauty marks hiding under the lace. I gently pushed the undergarment away from her body, joining the discarded blouse on the floor. I can feel the goose bumps forming on Delphine’s skin as she moves to unbutton and unzip her slacks.

“Can I?” I asked, gently stopping her hand that’s about to undo the buttons.

She nods before turning to face me - her eyes are closed when we’re finally face-to-face. I couldn’t stop myself from standing on my tippy toes so I can press soft kisses on her eyelids, as if asking her to open her eyes so I can see them up close. She took the hint and with one simple look, I feel as if we’re back in the cabin – all the emotions and feelings of our summer never really going away, remaining within us and merely waiting for their chance to be re-awakened.

Delphine caresses my face before pulling me in for a kiss – a kiss filled with things left unsaid and emotions needed to be shared. I moan when she urges me to open my mouth so I can welcome her soft tongue – the sound coming from the back of my throat conveying my approval. I reach for the buttons and zipper of her slacks as she removes her shoes. Lost in the nearness of her, I suddenly feel her hands lifting my shirt and freeing me from my bra. I aided her by pulling down my own pants – my clothes creating a separate pile on the floor next to hers. 

We only had our panties on as we make out at the edge of my studio. Every pause for breath was dedicated to taking each other in, re-familiarizing ourselves with the landscapes of our bodies. She brushes her knuckles on my spine and places wet kisses on my neck, which emboldened me to gently grab her breasts. She runs her hand through my hair, directing me to an erect nipple which I take with my mouth. 

“Please take me to bed, Cosima -” she said, her breath tickling the shell of my ear, when my hand accidentally hovered on the junction of her thighs. 

I do as I was told.

I slowly lead us to the foot of the bed, taking a seat once the back of my knees hit the mattress. She held my head with both her hands as I pulled her closer to trace my lips over her perfect skin. I kept on with my rediscovery of Delphine, grazing my lips over her breasts, ribs, and navel. When my hands found their way to the waistband of her underwear, I look up to her, asking for permission to continue. She bit her bottom lip as she nods.

I work slowly as I slide down the last piece of her clothing – making sure to stop and kiss the parts of her long, silky legs that I haven’t seen and touched in a long time. When she stepped out of her underwear, I move towards the headboard, making room for her on my bed. For a split, unsure second, I was afraid she’ll come to her senses and say that she can’t do it – that we’re about to make a big mistake. I held my breath until she finally climbed on the bed.

  
"How do you want me?” She asked while we were on our knees in the middle of the bed. I let my actions do the talking as I kiss her hard and gently parted her. “You’re so wet,” I teased as I run my fingers up and down her center. “I missed you too,” she said with a gasp while I draw circles around her bud. 

“Mon dieu, make it last,” she moaned as I tease her entrance before laying her down on her back. I hover over her, my arms between her head, and kiss her with every ounce of passion that I have. My ears are getting reacquainted and re-addicted to the small noises she makes as I make my way down from her lips to kiss her collarbone and suck on her hard, pink nipples. I let my fingers slide down her body to continue making her quake under my touch.

“Tell me what you want,” I tell her as I burn in my desire for her. 

“Take me,” she said, “it’s been too long...”

I trail down to settle my mouth over her core, spreading her legs to make room for me before moving my fingers to play with her puckered nipples. Her hand makes its way to the back of my head, pulling on my hair when I swirl my tongue on particularly sensitive and pleasurable spots. She moved hard against me as I relish the feeling of being able to taste her again - her small purrs from before have now been replaced by more intense moans.

Delphine is right - it has been too long. I want to hear more of her so I glide my fingers down from her breasts to the pool of moisture between her legs. I thrust inside her with one, then two fingers while I hum my pleasure on her bud. She cups the side of my face as I feel her thighs and hips tremble and shake.

  
“Come up here,” she said, “I need you, Cosima...” And I did as I nestle my head on the crook of her neck – her breathy moans tickling my ear and getting me even more aroused. I continue thrusting my fingers deeper into her heat, hooking and tapping at the spot that I remembered drove her wild. “Yes, please don’t stop,” she moaned as I quicken my pace when I feel that she’s getting close. 

A few more strokes was all it took for Delphine to shake beneath me, screaming her release as she pulls me close to her. Intoxicated by her taste and smell, and swimming in all my pent-up emotions that are now coming out in the open, I forget every complication that hampers us and say the simple truth I’ve run away from for most of my adult life.

“I love you, Delphine. After all this time...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If it wasn’t for her, I would have never known that Delphine was there. Who knows what could have happened (or not happen) if she wasn’t there?” What could have happened is If There is A Chance (remember that in that story, Delphine was alone in the gallery, she saw Cosima with someone else, and left). You can read it here if you have the time - https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856441/chapters/44754181
> 
> The lines “I’m not sending you into the mountains to play house, am I?”; “I’m not going to run after you, Delphine”; and “I can’t spend my life pining away for someone who doesn’t want me” are direct quotes from tumblweed's Transhumance which you should definitely read if you haven't here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794386/chapters/10972250
> 
> Lastly, thank you very much for the interest in this work – especially to those leaving comments and kudos. I’ll try to continue keeping at it. As always, I appreciate feedback so let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Until the next chapter!


	7. November 1, 1983 – Bathed in Afterglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some portions of this chapter were originally part of Chapter 6, but for some reason I failed to copy them when I updated the story a few days ago and I didn't notice it. Anyway, I added a few more details so it would be more appropriate as a new chapter instead of including it in the last chapter.
> 
> Thank you again for the kind words, interest, and kudos to this work. It's surprisingly running longer than my last fic so I hope you have the patience to bear with me as I ramble my way into finishing this story. :)

Cosima didn’t need to plead for me to stay because all my notions of right and wrong disappeared the minute I felt her arms around me. I wanted to face her and hold her close when her hot tears seeped through my shirt, but I didn’t because I wanted to quiver some more from her kisses on my neck and my shoulders. My body's reaction to Cosima’s touch confirm what I have known all along - that my many previous dreams of her pale in comparison with the actual sensation of the simple brushes of her lips over my clothes and skin. I forgot all the rational reasons that had me considering today to be our last goodbye when our lips finally met after such a long separation.

_‘We’re not finished and this is not where our story ends,’ _I thought to myself when her hands slid from my shoulders to my waist.

I let her undress me, encouraging her to fall into me again amidst our past and current complications and attachments. I am hers again the moment she kissed me on my back, making a pattern of the constellation she so astutely observed years ago in the cabin. But who am I kidding? I think I’ve always been hers ever since that summer in the highlands.

And because I’m hers, I ask her to take me and make me feel the sensations that I’ve only dreamt of in the last 26 years.

As Cosima coaxes every kind of pleasure from my pliant body, my pleasure-addled mind began to think how different making love is now that we are we’re older. It’s different mainly because of the obvious physical changes – the changes made by time, the different hairstyles, additional piercings, and new makeup. When Cosima looked up to me as she presses open-mouthed kisses on my wet core, my body shook with ecstasy not only because of her skilled tongue but also because her cat eye makeup has made her gaze more intense, almost hypnotic. I had to remove her glasses and put it down on the floor so I can look into them directly, heightening the bliss of her perfect mouth on my pleasure points. And while I was hesitant to run my hands through her hair at first, afraid that I’m going to mess it up, I found myself enjoying pulling on her dreadlocks while I tried prolonging the pleasure and making the moment last a little bit longer. Somehow while it’s perfectly different, it’s also still the same with Cosima – the easy touches, the effortlessly breathtaking kisses, our hums and sounds, gentle but sure hands and lips, and perhaps the emotions we have for each other.

I wanted to tell her about my yearly trips to Buffalo when she told me earlier about drawing dandelions on my birthday. I wanted to tell her that in our own ways, we held on to what we shared so long ago – a cherished, once in a lifetime connection. The years apart, the distance between us, and the disappointments of an unfulfilled love may have frayed the invisible red string that I believe brought us together; nevertheless it’s still there binding us – continuously tugging at the heartstrings when memories of that summer are stoked by random musings conjured while painting or driving.

All coherent thoughts were lost once I came undone - I couldn’t help but scream when I was pushed to the edge. Like before, Cosima rides every wave of pleasure before kissing me softly on my neck and face as I come down from my high. I close my eyes after I came and the feel of Cosima’s body resting on top of me overwhelms me to the point that I can’t do anything else but envelope her in a hug.

“I love you, Delphine. After all this time...” She said with such tenderness and sincerity, and without even asking me to say it back. It was so unlike the first time she said them when our impending doom coated her words with vulnerability, fear, and frustration. The words surprisingly sunk in quickly, yet just like the first time she said them, I didn’t immediately know how to respond.

But I think it is my lot in life to be unable to deny her – not then, and especially not now. And I am hers after all - even if she isn’t mine and she is with another.

“Je t'aime aussi”, I replied before giving her a lingering kiss on the top of her head. There was silence after those words were said and after acknowledging the long-held feelings that produced them. Before I can even over-think about where we go from here, I felt my chest getting wet – the body on top of mine shaking. She’s crying and I couldn’t help but shed tears as well.

“Look at me,” I said as I try to tilt her chin up with my free hand. “Tell me what’s wrong...”

She looks up at me with misty eyes, the intricate eyeliner getting smudged by her tears. “Nothing’s wrong,” she exhaled, “this is perfect...too perfect...just like before...and I’m afraid it’s going to end just like before. I can’t take it -”

“Then it’s not going to end,” I said with every intention of following through as I caress her face. “Let me take care of you, Cosima,” I asked before turning us over for me to be on top.

“You don’t have to,” she said still avoiding my gaze. I cupped her beautiful face so she’d look at me and I could kiss her – hoping to convey that although I still have doubts about what happens to us after, I will do everything I can now for us to have a shot at being together. She returns my kiss, nervously at first before becoming equally as passionate, as if trying to tell me that she’s going to try to let go of the hesitation and fear.

Pretty soon, I am getting lost in tasting her lips and skin. The noises she makes as I run my tongue on her neck makes me bold so I brush my hand on her nipples before kissing them. I can feel her tremble under my touch as my hand trails down to reach inside her cotton underwear, the dampness I feel making me throb and ache for her again.

Cosima is the only woman I’ve ever been with and it’s been a while since the last time we were together. I was a bundle of nerves as I experimentally run my hand through the tiny, curly hairs on the mouth of her arousal, eagerly gauging her reaction by listening to her sounds and looking at her face. I parted her gently when she gasped and when she closed her eyes. I easily found her hard, pulsing nub and enthusiastically stroked it up and down, and then in circles. I felt her hand behind my head, directing me to shower her other nipple with the same attention as the one currently in my mouth while her other hand tries to pull down her soaked panties. I remove it completely for her, Cosima shifting to help me free it.

“Delphine, aahh,” she moaned, when my lips gravitate back to her luscious breasts. The need to give as good as I got roused me to let go of the nipple I was suckling on so I can replace my fingers on her core with my mouth. Groaning at the lost of contact at first, Cosima squeaked once my lips and tongue reach their desired destination.

“There, there,” Cosima said as both her hands now hold my head and face. “Don’t stop...for the love of God, please don’t stop.” And I didn’t, even if my jaw is getting strained and is still getting used to its long-lost desired actions. I bob and look up at Cosima who has her mouth open and her eyes closed, the perfect picture of bliss – just as how she looked the first time I did this to her.

“Inside Delphine,” she said when she finally opened her eyes and met my gaze. I easily thrust two fingers in after teasing her entrance, making her center more succulent and drenched as I glide in with a steady but powerful rhythm. “I want to taste us,” she directed before pulling my face up so she can kiss me.

“We taste so good,” she exclaimed in between moans when our lips meet. “Harder, please,” she then instructed as I experiment by adding another finger in the fray. It’s rewarded with a breathy “Oh Jesus,” as the movement of her hips and thighs have become irregular and desperate.

“I’m coming...Oh God, I’m coming,” she said which gave my strained wrist a much needed second wind. “Come,” I said seductively as the speed of my thrusts quickens. And with one final plunge, she did – her whole body tightened and her breaths became uneven. My name coming from her lips echoed in the tiny studio when she finally let go.

“Thank you,” she said with a grin when it was over, “I missed you so much...and I fucking missed that.” We shared one more languid kiss before she wrapped her arms around me as I lay on her chest. Tired but very satisfied about the turn of events of our reunion, we held each other as we fell asleep.

\-----

The late afternoon sunlight peered through the windows’ thin curtains and roused me from what is perhaps the best nap I’ve had in a long while. If I’m going to be a bit scientific about it, I can attribute the perfection of this afternoon nap to the fact that I didn’t get much sleep last night, and also to my body’s need for relaxation after many stressful months of hard work and concentration poured towards the concluded exhibit.

But it’s easier to feel rather than think rationally when I have Delphine in my arms. While I didn’t immediately pick up on the reason behind her request to pose for me and for me to draw her, it made sense to me once she saw the sketch and said she was going to leave. I realized that she was doing it for closure - this was the last goodbye she had in her mind at the thought of me having moved on from her with Shay.

I had to make her see the truth. I had to make her believe otherwise. Sex was not enough for me to convey that so I went for honesty and told her I love her. To hear her say it back - without the need for me to unfairly coerce her like last time - felt like coming home after being so lost for so long. Dramatic as it may seem, but I feel that after being in a standstill for God knows how long, my world started turning again when she said she loves me too and when she said this is not the end for us. It’s funny how I thought that age has made me harder and more cynical, only for me to wax poetic now about finding a new lease on life now that the love of my life is back in the picture.

The light coming through the windows bounces on a heap of blonde hair – the view strengthening my resolve to end my relationship with Shay as soon as possible so that I can wake up every day to this sight. I place a kiss on top of Delphine’s head, a kiss filled with relief that she’s here with me, and disbelief at how easy it is for us to fall back into each other again. While I relish the skin-to-skin contact that I have secretly craved for all these years, I feel her stir. And before long, her big hazel eyes are looking up to me, probably expressing the same relief and disbelief about our reunion. 

“Hey,” she said as she runs her fingers on my chest, “have you been awake long?”

I rub her arm with my palm as I held her closer and before I can answer her, she was already reaching out to cup my face and give me a chaste kiss on my lips. “I must have woken up 10 minutes ago,” I said after, making a move to kiss her too.

In the confines of my studio, we relish in the subtle sounds of our long overdue togetherness. “I can hear your heart beating,” she said, the simple statement making me grin from ear-to-ear. “I can feel your heart beat,” I said before she smiles and moves to straddle me.

“I love you,” she said once we’re face to face. “I need to say it again just in case you have doubts that I said it at the heat of the moment.”

“I know,” I answered as I run my fingers through her hair. “I love you too, Delphine...so that there’s no room for doubts about my feelings for you.”

It wasn’t long before I pulled her close to me for us to share passionate and electric kisses. Pretty soon, hands are jointly travelling south in search of familiar heat to momentarily sate our seemingly-insatiable desire for each other.

\-----

“I can do this all day and all night,” Cosima whispered as she held on to my hips while I hang on tight around her shoulders after riding a new round of joint pleasure and release. “Oui,” I said going for a kiss, only to be interrupted by Cosima’s growling stomach.

“That is so not sexy,” Cosima laughs as she hides her face on my chest. 

“I’m famished too,” I said with a giggle. I get up from bed after giving her a quick peck on the lips. I then pick up my shirt from the pile near the door and button it halfway up before reaching her apartment’s small kitchen. “Do you have some mustard and butter?” I turned to ask Cosima who was already sensually watching me.

“What?” I asked in what I hope to be my sexiest voice.

“Nothing,” she said as she finds her glasses and wears them before re-positioning herself from leaning on the headboard to being on the foot of the bed, rolled over on her tummy, with her head resting on both hands revealing a warm but mischievous smile. “You look good in that shirt,” she then said with a wink which made me blush.

“The butter and mustard, mon amour?” I asked again while I saunter towards her to give her a kiss. “Fridge and top left shelf,” she answered as she returns my affection. I was back in the kitchenette, slicing the brioche and mixing some mustard with the butter when I hear Cosima speak.

“Mon amour,” she whispers.

“Yes?” I said without looking back.

“Nothing,” she said which made me look over my shoulder, “it’s just nice to be your mon amour again.”

I blush some more while I prepare our sandwiches. I spread the mixture of butter and mustard on the sliced bread and put ham and cheese in between before fitting four sandwiches in the small oven toaster. I face Cosima while I wait for the toaster’s ding, basking in our current domesticity that we last shared in the cabin. “Smells yummy,” an excited Cosima said as I walk back to the bed with a plateful of sandwiches. We sit on the edge of the bed and we each take bites of our late lunch (or early dinner). 

“Where to now Dr. Cormier?” Cosima asked after finishing off her first sandwich.

“Well I have to go back to Berkeley,” I said after swallowing a good chunk of bread. “We leave for Pescadero tomorrow, and then the next day -”

“You go back to Canada?” Cosima said finishing my sentence for me.

“Oui,” I answered.

“Where to now?” She asked again, this time I know she’s not inquiring about my itinerary. “What happens to us when you’re back home?”

The only way I can answer her question is by being honest, so I said: “What happens after is up to you, mon amour. The ball is on your court now...You have to make decisions -”

“I choose you, Delphine. I love you,” Cosima exclaimed, her words making my heart swell and beat wildly.

“I love you too, Cosima,” I said, “and if you want me to, I will never leave you now. But I know you have important things to sort out so I’m giving you all the time you need to do that and decide.” I then walk to her desk and found a pen and a piece of paper. When I came back to her, she gives me a kiss before I hand her my note.

“That’s my address and phone number in Pemberton,” I said as she reads it. “When you’re ready, when you’re settled, you know where to find me,” I said while I pick up the dirty plate on the bed. “I will wait for you,” I then said before walking back to the small kitchen to wash the dishes. As I was rinsing off the soap from the utensils, I feel her arms encircling my waist.

“Pescadero?” She asked.

“It’s Krystal’s hometown,” I answered as I try to finish the chore quickly so I can fully lean into her touch and warmth. “We’re staying there for a night before driving back home.”

“Can I come with you? To Pescadero?” She asked to my surprise.

With my hands still wet, I turn to face her to throw my arms around her neck. “Do you mean that? Because if you do, I’d like to introduce you to Lyra...”

“I mean it and I'd love to spend more time with you and get to know Lyra,” she said before leaning in for another kiss. “Okay, I have to pack,” she enthusiastically quipped as she wears her robe.

“Quoi?” I said with a confused smile.

“If it’s okay, I’d like to go to Berkeley and then Pescadero with you,” she explains. “You’re not the only one who’s never leaving now,” she said before getting an overnight bag from the nearby dresser.

“I would love that,” I said with a smile while giving her a lingering look before finishing cleaning up.


	8. Willing Suspension of Pressing Realities

The sun is almost gone when Cosima and I stepped out of her studio after sharing a quick meal and a longer-than-usual shower. As soon as we’re out on the streets, an unexpected self-conscious thought hits me – fully aware that this is the first time we’re going public with what we have, can I and should I hold her hand? She seems to have gotten a sense of what I’m thinking as she reaches out for my hand while giving me her signature sly smile. “Lead the way,” she then said casually while she holds her bag by the handle and slings it over her shoulder.

All sense of awkwardness seems to float away in every easy, carefree step we take together. We reach the garage still hand in hand, and in no time parking fees were paid and we’re getting in the car. While I adjust the mirrors, I notice Cosima scooting near me as she places her overnight bag between her and the passenger seat door. “Is this okay?” She asked, pointing to her position on the middle of the car’s bench seat with gleeful eyes. My answer came in the form of an amused smile, followed by a lingering kiss on her cheek.

We drive towards Berkeley with Cosima leaning her head on my shoulder while her fingers playfully draw patterns on my thigh. To say that her ministrations are driving me crazy is apt - every sense of her touch is like a coded message for me to pull over so we can ravish each other with our lips and hands. How I got us to Gabi’s apartment without making any stopovers I wouldn’t know - but I do know that it’s an exercise in self-restraint. Before we head out of the car and into the apartment complex, Cosima cups my face and gives me a breathtaking kiss that I enthusiastically return. Still playing back our most recent memories together, it took a while for me to respond as we rest our foreheads and noses against each other.

“What was that for?” I asked, relishing in the closeness that still comes oh so naturally between us even after many years apart.

“Just in case I won’t be able to do that in the next 24 hours,” she said, “how are you even going to introduce me to her?” 

I reach out to caress her beautiful face, hoping to give her some reassurance before answering her question. “I haven’t told her anything yet,” I said, “so if it’s okay with you, can you be a long-lost friend for now? Until I tell her when we’re back home...”

“I figured as much,” Cosima replies as the genuine smile from before is replaced with one that is more reserved - if a bit forced. “Take all the time you need...” She added before leaning in for another kiss. “No way am I leaving you anyway.”

After a few more kisses, we finally step out of the car. She asks a few questions about Lyra, Krystal, and Gabi while we climb up the stairs, but once inside the still quiet apartment I wasted no time in backing her up against the wall, bringing our lips together before lavishing her face, jawline, and neck with kisses and playful nips.

“What was that for?” She asked giddily with a cheeky grin exposing her eye tooth.

“Because I can,” I said as I toyed with a lock of her hair. We locked lips once more and whispered _I love yous _before she set aside her bag while I fetch a couple of glasses of water for us. We were blowing up a sleeping bag for her impromptu sleepover when we hear keys sliding into the apartment's doorknob and deadbolt.

\-----

When Delphine said she’d be travelling back to Canada two days from now, I immediately thought of ways to spend more time with her while she’s still here, jumping at my chance and essentially inviting myself at the mere mention of a trip to Pescadero. I didn’t think much about the logistics of it – I just packed a bag, seduced her into a shower with me, and got into her car. But at the sound of the door opening, I realize now that logistics should have been the farthest thing on my mind.

There are bigger things at play here after all, so I set aside the giddiness I feel about our reunion to formally meet Delphine and Christophe’s daughter - wanting nothing more but to make a good impression after our unexpected and somewhat volatile meeting last night. I was preparing to see Lyra when a shorter, blonde woman our age entered the apartment instead. “Hey Del,” she lazily said while raising a hand in greeting. “Who’s your friend?” She asked as her eyes focused on me. Delphine stands up from where she’s sitting on the floor and lends me a hand to pull me up.

“Hi,” she said casually as she dusted her hands on her thighs. “This is Cosima – the one I met today. Cosima, this is my friend – Krystal.” To my surprise, Krystal comes in for a tight hug instead of a handshake. “It’s so good to meet you, Cosima,” she exclaimed. “What have you gals been up to?!?” She asked pointing to the still-limp sleeping bag near the couch.

“Cosima is sleeping here tonight – she’s coming with us tomorrow,” Delphine explains. “I hope that’s okay, I kinda invited myself...Never been to Pescadero,” I added with a smile. “Oh no, no, not at all - the more the merrier,” Krystal replies, “and any friend of Del’s is a friend of mine too,” she thoughtfully remarked.

“Where are the girls?” Delphine asks, looking behind Krystal for any sign of her daughter.

“Gabi is parking the car and Lyra will be up shortly,” she said - her attention still on me as she answers Delphine’s question. “Oh my! Let me see your hands,” she then said, taking me a bit by surprise. And before I can even say yes to her odd request, she is already examining my nails, fingers, and palms.

“You have such pretty hands,” Krystal said while I can hear Delphine mumble “Krystal!” which amuses me. “I bet they’ll be prettier if you let me give you a manicure...I’ll get your nails done and I’ll take care of these stains and calluses...What do you say?”

“Sure, why not?” I said, more amused than irritated about Krystal’s gesture and Delphine’s reaction to them.

“We can do it tomorrow after sightseeing. Oh! Speak of the devil...” Krystal said as Delphine and I look at the open door.

Lyra enters the room to give her mother a hug and a kiss. Seeing her now in a more intimate setting, I can see that although she takes after Christophe more, her important features are pretty much Delphine’s. They have the same eyes – it’s one of the first things I noticed when I met her last night. And though her hair is a darker shade of blonde, it seems to be naturally curly – similar to how her mother wore her hair during our time in the cabin.

“It’s nice to see you again, Cosima,” she said extending her hand for me to shake. ‘_They have the same timbre of voice_’, keeping the observation all to myself after hearing her speak for the first time without nearby chatter and music from speakers distorting the sound of her voice. 

“The feeling is mutual,” I said as her attention is momentarily captured by a ringing telephone which Krystal answers. In the corner of my eye, I can see Delphine looking at us with a glint of hope and nervousness. “Your mom tells me you’re going to be a doctor soon,” I said, “that’s awesome.”

Lyra shifts her gaze back to me and gave out a polite smile. “Thanks,” she deadpanned, “I have a long way to go though...” I sense that she’s not really interested in talking to me because aside from her curt replies, she keeps looking over to Krystal and the phone. Maybe she’s expecting a phone call?

After a few more minutes of awkward silence between us, another girl – who I assume to be Gabi - enters the apartment with two boxes of pizza secured between her arm and the side of her waist.

“Oh, she just got in, I’ll put her on the phone now...” Krystal said to whoever she’s speaking to on the other line. “Sweetie, it’s Ferdinand,” she said as she hands the phone to her daughter. The other younger woman puts the pizzas down on the counter and hurriedly runs to the phone, but not without giving me a warm smile – the kind of smile I wanted to elicit from Lyra. “Hi,” I heard her say to Ferdinand. “I miss you,” she added.

“I’ll just be downstairs,” Lyra suddenly proclaimed. ‘_So much for making a good impression’_, I thought as I watch her get her shoulder bag that she hung on the coat rack by the door.

“Who’s hungry?” a hospitable Krystal said as she opens the pizza boxes and takes out paper plates from a cupboard. Delphine and I share knowing looks – which I hope to be an assurance from her that me meeting Lyra is not shaping up to be a huge mistake.

\-----

If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that it’s Cosima’s presence that’s bothering Lyra. But I am kind of aware that her dour mood is because of the phone call for Gabi – her muffled _‘I miss you’_ to Ferdinand practically sent her downstairs, most likely to let out her frustrations on a stick or two of cigarettes. Once Lyra was out the door, I looked at Cosima, hoping to convey that she shouldn’t be worried about ma poulette’s reaction simply because it’s not for her. And while I wanted to follow her downstairs to talk to her and maybe even share a smoke with her, I chose to stay inside – aware that she doesn’t want company while she deals with the reality of Gabi’s relationship.

I am quite surprised though that Krystal seems to be fond of Cosima right off the bat. As we share a box of pizza, Krystal can hardly contain her excitement in knowing more about my long-lost love. “I paint, I’m an artist,” Cosima humbly said when Krystal asked what she does for a living. “How do you know Del?” She then inquired. “We go way back,” Cosima quickly answered, giving me a wink and a smile before elaborating. “We herded sheep together back in Wyoming.”

Krystal then proceeded to talk about how she met me, how our families ended up running a ranch together, and how she’s been setting me up on dates for years now. “Maybe you can help me find someone for Del – it’s been too long you know,” she said with excitement, without any regard for how embarrassing this is for me, as she picks off the morsel of meat on her pizza. And though I blush in slight horror and embarrassment, Cosima didn’t seem to be bothered by my friend’s ribbing and even said: “I think I know someone,” she said with a mischievous grin. Lyra, who has returned from her cigarette break, seems to be filing the new information about Cosima as she takes small bites of her pepperoni pizza.

“How do you like San Fran?” Cosima then asked Lyra who has helped herself with opening the second box of pizza.

“It’s an interesting city,” Lyra said before taking a small bite of her second slice. “It’s nice, but I don’t see myself living here,” she added, “too much energy for me to handle, you know?”

“I get it,” Cosima said, “I felt overwhelmed too when I first moved here. But the city has this uncanny gift of being able to surprise you at every turn.”

“Just like the surprise of meeting me last night?” Lyra wisecracked.

“Yeah, just like that,” Cosima confessed, unable to hide her happiness about last night’s chance encounter. “That probably tops my list of how San Francisco has surprised me,” she added and I couldn’t help but sneak in a smile as our knees touch and rub under the table. Lyra nods, her face devoid of any strong reaction to what Cosima just shared.

We were almost done with our dinner when Gabi ended the phone call and proceeded to grab a slice. I introduce Cosima to her and she seems to be excited that I know someone who lives nearby. “We should definitely have coffee or drinks the next time I’m in the city,” Gabi said in between bites of her cheese pizza. It wasn’t long before they were exchanging phone numbers so they can keep in touch and plan their day out.

Two empty pizza boxes later, Gabi has already volunteered to take care of Cosima’s sleeping bag so that we can have time to pack for our short trip tomorrow. While Krystal and I packed, Cosima busied herself with asking Lyra all kinds of questions about school and about growing up in Montana and Canada. I know that Lyra does not easily warm up to people – a trait that she probably got from me, and I appreciate Cosima’s efforts to get to know my daughter in spite of her one-sentence answers and tight-lipped smiles. But a rare question from Lyra grabbed my attention as I zip my small luggage.

“Did you know my father too?” She inquired. I can see Cosima’s brows furrowing at Lyra’s question, seemingly unsure of how to answer it. “I’ve only met him once,” I hear her say, “but I can tell from your Mom’s stories that he’s a good man.” She bites her lip before adding – “I’m sorry about your Dad. Your Mom told me and I know how hard it is -”

“Thank you,” Lyra said, cutting Cosima off before excusing herself to step out of the apartment again. By the time she came back, almost everybody is ready for bed except for Cosima and Gabi who are still chatting about places they frequent. I fell asleep listening to Cosima describing a small park between Taylor and Vallejo Streets that she goes to when she wants to be alone, wanting nothing more but get the chance to visit it with her once we get everything sorted out.

The next day, I woke up early, refreshed, and excited for the trip. After using the bathroom, I went to the kitchen to make coffee for everybody. Even if it’s dark, I can see from the kitchen that Gabi has fallen asleep on the sleeping bag adjacent to Cosima’s, while Lyra is the one on the couch. I was waiting for the coffee to be ready when I feel a pair of arms encircling my waist.

“Good morning,” Cosima whispers, giving me a kiss on my arm. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept fine, mon amour,” I said, turning to face her while taking a quick peek around the apartment to check if anybody is awake. “How about you?” I asked before sneaking in a quick peck on her lips after seeing that everybody is still asleep. “I’ve slept on that and it’s not the best for the back...”

“I’ve slept on worst,” Cosima reassuringly answered. “Besides, knowing you’re in the same room - only a few steps away from me - is all the comfort I need.”

I continue basking in her embrace as I grab two mugs in a nearby dish rack. “I was thinking,” I said while I pour us some coffee, “that maybe you’d want to come to the ranch up north – Thanksgiving is coming soon.” I face her again to hand her the mug while observing how she received my invitation.

“Did you really just ask me to go to Canada?” She asked, her eyes twinkling as she sets aside her mug on the table to lean in closer until my back hits the counter. “Because I was kinda thinking if I can visit you there in the immediate future,” she said as she comes in for a kiss.

“That feels like a Yes to Canada and Thanksgiving,” I said when we came up for air a few minutes after.

“Yes and yes,” she said before reluctantly releasing each other from our arms when we hear sounds of ruffling bed sheets from across the room. 

\-----

It was Krystal who woke up and interrupted our stolen moment. When I first opened my eyes and heard footsteps in the apartment, I was kinda hoping it to be Delphine not only so I can give her a hug or a kiss, but also so I could ask her how she thinks I’m doing with Lyra so far. But then she mentioned Canada and asked me if I’d like to come up for a visit - and the gesture was more than enough to make me momentarily forget my concerns about not connecting with Lyra immediately. The fact that we’re making advance plans to see each other again makes me feel hopeful that once we get all our affairs in order, we can really start picking up where we left off.

After wrapping herself in a robe, Krystal walks towards us and mumbled a sleepy _‘Good morning’_ before putting sugar, milk, and hot coffee in a cup. Shortly after settling down beside Delphine while stirring her coffee, Gabi and Lyra groan, stretch, and get up to either make their coffee or use the bathroom. By the time everybody was cradling a mug of hot coffee in the small dining nook, dawn has already broken. 

Halfway through her cup, Gabi had a light bulb moment after continuously snapping her fingers. “I remember where I know you from,” she said pointing at me. “I saw one of your works over at the Berkeley Art Museum a couple of years ago. It was an abstract painting I think...”

I was about to tell her about that painting but Lyra beat me to it and spoke. “I didn’t know you like art,” she said without looking up from her mug.

“It’s not my thing,” a slightly offended Gabi retorted, “but Penelope who I was dating at that time is an Art Practice major so I went with her.” Her nonchalant way of saying that she dated another woman goes against the deafening and awkward silence permeating in the apartment now. As the outsider in this obviously tight-knit group, I couldn’t tell if the others knew this about Gabi prior to her quip. 

The silence was broken by Krystal’s giggle, which took me by surprise. “Oh my God, is this the girl obsessed with Woodstock?” She said and Gabi nods. “Well, how is she? I only spoke to her on the phone but she seems nice.”

“She’s based in L.A. now, Mom. Last I heard, she’s working for a film studio,” Gabi answered before taking another sip of her coffee.

“You dated another woman?” Lyra asked. “You never brought her home to the ranch,” she added. At her question, Delphine and I look at each other. We seem to be pleasantly surprised by Gabi’s admission - very much unlike Lyra who seems to be confused...and seems a bit hurt by it.

“Oh! Do I need to bring her home to date her? ” Gabi said. “And why does it matter to you, Ly?”

Lyra can only shrug her shoulders at Gabi’s words. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m getting a sense that there’s something beyond friendship going on between these two young women. And judging from the looks that Delphine is giving me right now, I think she can sense the same too.

After witnessing the slight tension between Gabi and Lyra, Krystal wisely changed the subject by excitedly outlining the itinerary of today’s trip to Pescadero. It’s just an hour and a half away via Highway 1 and Krystal has the entire day planned to a T – first we visit State Beach, then to a State Park to check out elephant seals, then walk around town and get a drink at a historic tavern, then visit Krystal’s old high school, before heading in to where we’re staying for the night: a hostel near an old lighthouse. “I use to sneak in there to make-out with Billy, my high school boyfriend,” she over-shares, much to Delphine’s amusement and Gabi’s embarrassment.

Delphine pours a second cup of coffee for me and Lyra after Krystal refused another round and after Gabi stood up to phone Ferdinand – who I found out yesterday from her stories to be her fiancé. My eyes inadvertently follow Gabi as she makes her way to the phone in the living room, making me remember my decision to not call Shay last night before going to sleep. It’s not that I’m scared of a confrontation; but I guess I just wanted to not think about her and the impending end of our relationship while I’m with Delphine, her daughter, and her friends. I just want a perfect trip with Delphine and when she goes back home, I will have all kinds of time to end things with Shay.

Besides, I’m already the selfish asshole anyway and calling her will not change that. Still, before leaving the studio for Berkeley, I changed the message in my answering machine from the generic _‘Leave me a message’_ to _‘I would be away and I’ll be back on the 3rd’_ to allay whatever worries she might have – that is if she’s more worried than pissed.

We were on the road before 8 in the morning – Krystal is riding with Gabi in her sedan, while I’m in Delphine’s pick-up with Lyra in the middle seat. Even before I joined the trip, Delphine and Krystal already agreed on bringing two cars to Pescadero so that they can drive straight to Pemberton on the 3rd. On that day, I’ll be catching a ride back to San Francisco with Gabi. “We can even go to that place in Embarcadero that I was telling you about for late lunch,” she proposed and I accepted.

I watch Delphine behind the wheel as she follows Gabi’s lead out in the highway. The way her hand grips the steering wheel and the way she looks out to the road ahead are making me imagine her driving to Buffalo with the wind in her hair. I smile at that image and pretty soon, I am caught in a daydream of us on a longer road trip, driving down that road to Buffalo, making up for the 26 years we lost by talking about our lives, sneaking in kisses, and planning our future together. I can’t wait for that dream to become a reality.

We were 40 minutes in to the trip when I got yanked out of my imaginings as Lyra shifted in her seat to turn on the radio. After a few minutes of turning the knob to look for a clear station, she finally settles on one and muttered an “I love this song” when the DJ played Come on Eileen. While I can only wish to replicate the easy chats I have had with Gabi whenever I strike up a conversation with Lyra, I get that some people are like onions that you have to peel layer by layer. So as she sings along to the song, I took my shot and sung along with her.

Our singing started out quietly – as if it’s a personal experience instead of a shared moment. I sung while looking out to the highway, my hand hanging out the window, and I can feel Lyra slightly tapping on her thighs as she sings. But by the time we get to the chorus, Lyra has become more confident, singing louder and bobbing her head in delight, so I decided to sing back-up - which surprised her but made her laugh. As we sing along together, I can see a beaming Delphine in the corner of my eye, and soon after, she is also trying to sing along to the song’s various _Too-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-rye-ays_ which made Lyra laugh out loud. “Stop it,” she said with a snort, “you’re butchering the song, Maman.”

The song ends and we let out a breath before clapping at each other’s musical prowess. “That was nice,” Lyra exclaimed. “What I love about that song is how deceitfully deep it is – judging from the tune, you wouldn’t know they’re talking about blue collar work.”

“Totally,” I said, agreeing to her comment. “I like that it talks about social norms and dreaming about having a different life from that of your parents’,” I added.

“You seem to know a lot about that,” she quipped, “having a life different from what you grew up in...”

“That wasn’t always the case you know...I wanted to stay in Wyoming. But it all worked out in the end, I guess. My sister, Sarah, is doing a good job holding the fort.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you end up running the ranch?” Lyra asked. I try to subtly look at Delphine, gauging if I can continue with the direction of my conversation with Lyra, but she has the same look as Lyra’s – an eager anticipation for my response.

“Love,” I said, going with simple honesty in threading a conversation that involves me and her mother. “I fell deeply in love and then life happened,” I added rather vaguely.

“You left the ranch and followed your love?” Lyra quipped, “I didn’t peg you as a romantic; free-spirited yes, romantic no.”

_‘I did the exact opposite’,_ I thought to myself, but instead said, “You can say that – when I got out of the ranch I found my love for painting and art, and now we’re here.”

“You didn’t marry your love?” Lyra prodded some more.

_‘If only I can’,_ my head and heart said, but my lips went with: “I didn’t marry at all. But I do have a niece – Kira, who I think the world of.”

Just then, the radio plays an older song and Delphine cranks up the volume a notch. It only took an instant for me to know the song – The Beatles’ The Long and Winding Road.

“Wow, this station is on a roll,” Lyra said, “it’s your favorite song, Maman!”

“Oui,” Delphine replies and looks at me. I return her gaze with a smile before she refocuses her attention to the road as we exit the highway and head to the beach.

\-----

If I’m being really honest, Pescadero post-Krystal looks the same as it did when I still lived here. And seeing that nothing much has changed is making me very emotional - I am happy and sad all at the same time. I’m happy because it’s all still very familiar: the small alcove in State Beach where we sneak out to try cigarettes and swig cheap rum is still there - complete with truant kids experimenting like we did when we were young; in the beach, you can still hear the elephants seals barking in nearby Año Nuevo just like before; the old grocery store where I shoplifted my first bottle of nail polish is still manned by Old Sal; and my old high school and my old house still look the same – sans the fresh coats of paint.

Is it odd that the familiar things that are making me happy are also making me sad? I’m sad that nothing has changed. Unlike me – I feel so different, so changed. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, being here in Pescadero now makes me feel grateful about how things worked out. The happy life I have with Scott and the kids, with Delphine and the ranch – I wouldn’t know if that would have happened if Mom let me have my way years ago when I wanted to stay put and live with my best friend Brie while I wait to finish high school and turn 18 so I can do whatever I wanted. I thought my life ended when my mother dragged me to Montana, little did I know that when we left this place, that’s when my life started. 

Gabi also sure looks happy to be in Pescadero – she seems to be interested about my little stories about growing up here. She says she’s bringing Ferdinand here once he moves to Berkeley from the East Coast. Am I happy that she’s in a serious relationship? Yes, because she looks happy to be engaged. And I do like Ferdinand – he’s polite (but maybe too polite, too serious?), seems kind (but maybe too formal?), not bad to look at, and is clearly smitten with my Gabi. Do I think they make a good fit? Who am I to know? Scott and I aren’t even 50% right for each other, but somehow it works. Do I sense that Gabi is still holding on to someone? Well, if that little show this morning is any indication, I think both of them are still holding on to each other.

I’ve known since the girls were high school seniors that there is something going on between them. A mother can tell, yes, but I found out because a mother also has eyes. I saw Gabi sneaking out of the house late one night to go the old barn and I was about to follow her to see what she’s up to when from my living room window, I caught a glimpse of Lyra making her way to the same barn. Since then, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together – Gabi’s empty bed, the way she looks so sleepy but giddy during breakfast, and those lovey-dovey looks they exchange when they think no one’s looking.

I’m fine with Gabi being with another girl – I love my daughter and if she’s happy (and I was sure she was happy with Lyra) then I’m happy. I so wanted to tell Del about our daughters, but I wasn’t sure how she would react to it. Yes, we’re best friends but we never talked about these things. Plus she’s always elegant, prim, and proper, so I always thought that she won’t approve of our girls. But then Cosima comes along, and it makes sense to me now why all the dates I set up for Del didn’t work out. I’m not sure if she has any idea about Gabi and Lyra, but after what I’ve known about her during this trip, I’d make sure to talk to her about it the minute we’re back at the ranch.

After a enjoying a picnic on the beach and taking a short hike in a nearby park (thank goodness my toe is way better now after that icky ingrown incident!), we went to the center of town to buy some more food and souvenirs. We skipped the tavern, deciding to check it out in the evening for a late dinner and drinks. Pretty tired, we head to our hostel just at the foot of the Pigeon Point Lighthouse and it’s a good thing that we got the room with the three bunk beds in advance. 

Pigeon Point is still as pretty as I remember it – and I’m so happy that the hostel’s cliffside hot tub still works! As soon as we got all our things inside our room, I changed into my bathing suit. “Everybody be there in 15 minutes!” I said as I grab a couple of towels and my robe.

I was already minutes into relaxing in the tub, my eyes closed while I let the jets soothe my tired muscles, when Cosima arrives wearing what she wore for this trip. “You’re not going in?” I asked, disappointed. She then hikes up her loose-fitting pants to her knees and sat down at the edge of the tub. “Just my feet,” she said with a smile as she fixes her glasses. She’s a beautiful woman - quirky and full of life – and it’s not hard to see why Del is fond of her. To say that I’m intrigued about them is an understatement - I am dying to know for sure what they are to each other.

“So,” I said to start the ball rolling, “who’s this someone you have in mind for Del?”

“Huh?” She asked with raised eyebrows.

“You said so last night,” I said, taking pleasure in her reactions. “You know, I’ve been setting Del up with guys since a few years after Christophe passed. She says she isn’t interested - something about not seeing herself falling in love again. I always thought she’s holding on to someone...”

I let my words sink in, gauging Cosima’s reaction to what I just said before I went for the jugular.

“I never expected that someone to be you though, to be honest...” Cosima listened, mouth agape with disbelief.

“I saw you two this morning,” I said with a wink and a smile. “You two aren’t the only farm girls around here - I wake up early too. So spill.”

Cosima tries to hide her blushing face by looking down at the streams of water. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I haven’t seen Del this happy about someone not Lyra, or about something not ranch-related.” At what I said, she looks up to me with a smile like that of a teenager brimming with love.

“I think it’s better if she tells you,” Cosima said, trying to sound calm and relaxed even if she seems very excited and giddy.

I look at her, trying to figure out how I can get more out of her about them. “How about we trade information?” I said. “I’ll tell you something about Del, and in return I get to ask you a question? Fair?” Cosima nods.

“Okay,” I said as I excitedly scoot near her. “A few years ago, we had our house renovated and we stayed over at Del’s for about a month. Well, she was taking a nap in her couch and I was there, reading a magazine when I heard it. A name...‘Co-si-ma,’ she said. I didn’t get it until she introduced you last night. She dreamt about you...”

Now Cosima cannot contain her blushes and smiles.

“So, is that good information? Can I ask a question now?”

“Ask away,” Cosima said as she runs her hands through her hair (which I gotta say looks good on her – not everybody can pull off dreadlocks, but with her it works!).

“I don’t want to know the details for now and I can just tease Del for it. So my question is, do you love her?”

And Cosima nods. Her eyes are happy, content – no way is she lying about this.

“That’s all I want to know!” I said, covering my mouth after to stifle my laugh. “But I meant what I said earlier,” I added, taking in a more serious tone. “The reason why I keep setting her up is because she seems lonely – of course not while at work, work keeps her busy and I think that’s why she loves it. So what I’m saying is thank you – for making my friend happy.”

Her reaction to what I said reveals to me that the happiness goes both ways – Delphine is also making Cosima happy. Before I can ask any more questions about it, a door opens and we see Gabi from a few feet away in a robe, heading towards us.

“Hey Cosima,” I said hastily, playfully pinching her leg, “I promise I won’t tell until you gals are ready.”

\-----

As enticing as it sounds, I had to excuse myself from spending an afternoon in the hot tub to take a nap. The day surprisingly took a lot out of me – from the driving, the strolls on the beach, the hiking, and to the need to keep myself in check so I wouldn’t impulsively reach out to hold Cosima’s hand. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is a tentative-sounding conversation between Gabi and Lyra about Seth. 

I woke up to Cosima’s lips playfully tracing invisible patterns from my forehead to my chin as she leans by my bunk. I can still remember how we laughed when we first saw our room for the night. “It’s the bunk beds,” I explained when Lyra asked us why we’re snickering. “It’s the same as the ones we have in our cabin,” Cosima added.

She climbs up on the bed and my arms instinctively welcome her for a cuddle even if I’m still half asleep. “I still can’t believe it,” she said as she wraps her arms tighter around me, “you’re really here with me.” I kiss her on the top of her head, smelling her shampoo mixed with the salt from the sea. “Me too, mon amour,” I said. Just then, she moves to hover over me, pressing her body against mine before leaning in for a kiss.

“Where’s everybody?” I asked as I look around our dimly-lit room.

“They went to a tavern in town for dinner and drinks,” Cosima answered. “I took a rain check and said I was tired. Krystal let you rest,” she said. “By the way, she knows about us.” I became fully-awake at what she said and I look at her for an explanation. “She saw us this morning,” Cosima continued with nary a hint of concern. “She also said you dream about me...”

“Did she?” I teased - surprised that Krystal knowing about us is not bothering me even a bit. “You apparently said my name while you napped,” Cosima replied before stroking my hair and pushing them back. I was about to pull her close when she suddenly shifts to get off the bed.

“Get your coat,” Cosima then instructed. “I wanna show you something.”

I did as she said and we got out of the room after fixing my hair. She then leads me outside to a well-lit and paved trail, surrounded by yellow wildflowers, that leads to a humble-looking bench facing the ocean. “How about we gaze at the stars?” Cosima proposed as she takes my hand, “you know, just like in the highlands?” She didn’t need to ask me twice as I take the seat beside her, wanting and needing to be close to her tonight.

I tighten my grip on her hand while my eyes welled up with tears at the first sight of the night sky. “Hey, hey,” she said with a worried look as she rubs the top of my hand with her thumb, “what’s wrong?”

“In all the years we were apart, when I miss you, I look up at the stars,” I shared, not knowing what else to say but the truth. “I try to look for the constellations and stars you told me about - Little Dipper, Polaris, Orion,” I paused, unable to hide a smile as I remember the night she traced Orion on my back. “I missed you everyday so I try to gaze at the night sky whenever I can – at first wishing that you’re beside me like you are now, but as the years passed, I settled for just hoping that wherever you are, you’re also looking at the same sets of stars I’m gazing at.”

Cosima looks at me with tears in her eyes as she pulls me close for a tight embrace. She was kissing the side of my face when I pulled back to kiss her so I could feel her lips on mine - so I can believe that she’s really here beside me, with me.

“I know that we have a lot to sort out,” Cosima said as she takes my hands to place it over her heart, “but I meant what I said before – I will never leave you now. And no matter how complicated things may get, I will always find my way back to you. I am yours, Delphine.”

“I am yours too, mon amour and I promise to wait for you,” I said, not being able to help myself from kissing her again.

We lost track of how long we stayed on that bench, tracing the stars and constellations with our fingers while whispering sweet nothings and promises towards a shared future. As we head back in after it got too cold, we noticed Gabi’s car in the parking lot, and sure enough when we got back to our room, Krystal’s already putting on her face creams, Gabi has already dozed off, and Lyra is on the bunk directly above mine - reading a book and almost asleep. It wasn’t long before I was turning off the lights, giving Lyra a soft kiss on her cheek, and tucking myself back on my bunk.

When I woke up before daybreak the next day, I turn to face the bunk at the opposite side of the room where Cosima is sleeping. It’s still dark outside and I can only see a faint outline of her body, yet the blurry image was a more than enough source of comfort and warmth for me. I was allowing myself to fall back to sleep when she turned from facing the wall beside her to face me. Even from a short distance amidst the darkness, I can see her caramel eyes looking straight at me and I can see her lips mouthing an _I love you_ that I immediately say right back.

We stared at each other until the first sliver of sunlight seeped through the blinds, as if making a silent but sincere promise that whatever happens after today, we will and we can work it out.


	9. November 3, 1983: Cutting Clean, Coming Clean

“It’s just a temporary separation,” I reminded myself the minute I entered the studio - still high from the unexpected trip with the woman who’s thankfully back in my life. As I set down my bag on the floor, I can still remember how we stood in front of each other before we parted: how much I wanted to hold her tight and give her a kiss goodbye that she’ll remember; a kiss that would somehow bridge the minutes and the hours between today and Thanksgiving when I get to finally see her and be with her again.

In the moments before we separated, I can sense that Krystal was trying to create an opportunity for us to say a proper goodbye, but that never materialized. After all, we were in a hostel teeming with backpackers, and Lyra avoiding Gabi means she’s almost always close to her Maman. So before we boarded different cars headed towards different destinations, all we manage to share is a polite hug and friendly pecks on the cheeks. “I’ll miss you,” I whispered to her ear, giving it a subtle nibble, and she replied with a breathy “I’ll see you soon.”

Before driving past Gabi’s car, Delphine stopped and rolled her windows down. “I’ll call you once I get settled,” she said and I hang on to her every word. And so after having lunch and coffee with Gabi in a restaurant just a few streets away from the studio, here I am now – looking at the phone, counting down the hours, estimating where Delphine may be now, and barely holding in the excitement of spending hours talking with the woman I let slip away almost a lifetime ago but could never really let go of in spite of the years and distance.

As much as I want to just lie down in bed to bask and drown in all that has happened these past few days, I get my head out of my musings of Delphine for now to face the music. I look at the answering machine beside the phone, surprisingly unblinking and empty of messages –which could only mean that Shay is really pissed. She probably called, heard about me being away until today, and slammed the phone in disbelief and quiet rage about my abrupt absence. After reverting to my usual _Leave a Message_ greeting, I dialed a number I usually do not call at this wholesome hour.

“Hello, Paradise Ranch. What do you want?” A gruffy voice said.

“Hey, who raised you? Why do you answer the phone like you’re in the middle of a drug deal?”

“Hey Cos,” my twin said with a laugh, “sorry ‘bout that. If I knew it was you I would have started more appropriately.” Sarah continues to chuckle, “So let’s start over, shall we?” She said. “Hello bitch. This is a bit late for our usual phone call...or is it early? Whatever, the days and hours here in the ranch are already melding together anyway...”

“Nothing much, just checking in. And saying sorry in advance – I won’t be there for Thanksgiving this year...I kinda made other plans,” I said, my voice barely containing the excitement.

“Let me guess...” My sister said, “You got roped in to some all-expenses paid artsy trip - somewhere exotic - where there is no Thanksgiving? Can you help a sister out by taking her with you?”

“No,” I clarified, “I just accepted an invitation to spend it somewhere colder, a bit up north – in Pemberton.”

“You’re shitting me, yeah?” Sarah said - amusement and disbelief adding color to her words.”Wow! How did you manage to make that happen, geek?”

I filled in Sarah on how Delphine and I got back into each other’s lives: the gallery party, me meeting her daughter, us meeting in the studio (minus the hot, sordid details of course), and going to Pescadero. Sarah never said a word the entire conversation, even after telling her that Delphine and I reached an understanding – a promise that this time around, we are going work it out together.

“Have I just done the impossible?” I asked. “Render my wisecracking twin sister speechless?” I said while I play with the cords of my phone.

“I’m so happy for you, for you two,” Sarah said, and I swear I heard sniffles and her voice breaking – but maybe I’m just hearing things. “And I can’t wait to meet her...To tell her all about the pathetic pining you did back in Florida.”

“Then it’s set, you will never meet Delphine,” I said in jest. “But seriously, when we’ve sorted things out, going to Buffalo would be on top of the list.”

After a few more exchanges about Kira’s wedding and how the ranch is doing, Sarah hurriedly said goodbye to tend to the never-ending ranch chores. Telling Sarah about us adds a realistic dimension to our relationship which gives me more than enough courage to call Shay’s apartment. When I got her machine, I dialed the gallery, but I was told that she’s in a meeting so I left word for her that I’d be in her apartment and that I’d wait for her to come home. I then grabbed my coat and looked at my bicycle leaning against the wall, considering for a minute if I should ride it to Shay’s. I shucked the idea and went on to get my biggest piece of luggage from the closet, figuring that I can take the train from here then just hail a taxi with my things after.

I was walking to the station when I saw a travel agency just a couple of blocks from my studio. I checked the time and with plenty to spare, I push the glass door and enter - the bell over the front door chimed alerting a young man tending to the office by his lonesome to my presence.

“So you want a plane ticket to Vancouver before Thanksgiving,” he said. “We have lots of options,” he continued and showed me prices and departure times. I picked a time and date, and I can’t help but be excited as he types and makes reservations for me.

“Will that be a one-way or a round trip ticket?” He asked me which made me stop tapping my fingers on the table. And for the first time since my reunion with Delphine, I got utterly confused about the future.

\-----

In hindsight, I wish we could have taken one car to Pescadero just so I could have spent another hour or two with Cosima. But Lyra insisted on driving straight home after - citing the need for her to get back to work immediately because she had taken too much time off already - so we stuck with the two-car arrangement. From the rear view mirror, I can see Gabi following our path and I can imagine them having an animated conversation about anything under the sun. They were just behind us up until Gabi took a turn to exit the interstate, and while I only caught a glimpse of their car before it completely disappeared from my view, I’d like to imagine that Cosima was craning her neck, looking at my car until it disappeared from her line of sight as well.

As I drive away from Cosima and from San Francisco, I know that the invisible red string tying our hearts together is again being put to the test. _Three weeks_ \- I tell myself - _three weeks and we’ll be together again_. I take some comfort in the fact that if the figurative string survived 26 years of heavy tension brought about by our separation, then three weeks apart ought to be a piece of cake for it.

“It’s very nice to meet Cosima,” Krystal said with a giggle as we cross the Bay Bridge. “I’m happy to know you have cool friends aside from me,” she finishes off with a knowing wink.

“Well,” I said as I thread a hand through my hair, “I’m happy you get along well with her, but she really has that effect on people. I’m happy she still has it. She’ll also be joining us for Thanksgiving, by the way.”

“Is she really?” Krystal asks as the corner of her mouth quirked up in slight excitement. “Because that would give me plenty of time to do her nails...How about you, Lyra,” she continued, “What do you make of your Maman’s long-lost friend?” Lost in the events of the past few days, the feeling of dread revolving around how I’m going to tell Lyra about me and Cosima has re-emerged when Krystal asked her question. Even if I’m 100% focused on the road, I’m all ears as I await Lyra’s reply.

“She’s okay if a bit...” Lyra pauses, obviously trying to find the right, respectful words to describe Cosima. “Eccentric, no? But I think that comes with the territory – she being an artist and all. So yeah, she’s okay – very interesting. She sure hit it off with you and Gabi,” she explains as she undid her ponytail and shook out her hair only to re-tie it again barely a minute later.

I can’t help but find parallelisms between what she just said and her Papa’s first impressions of Cosima many years ago. Somehow, her words made me remember how falling in love during the Summer of 1957 blurred my perception of reality and illusion: how being with Cosima turned into my sweet and actual life; and how my real life – the one where I was a newly-orphaned newlywed living in a foreign country – became the illusion, the faraway and imagined ordeal. But now that I’ve found her again, I think I owe it to her and to our history to finally follow through and turn what we have into an inescapable part of our joint realities. And the first step towards making that happen is to honestly tell Lyra about us as soon as possible.

“We need gas,” I said as I change lanes to get to a gas station and stop by a gas pump. “Great, I have to tinkle,” Krystal said tugging on my hand before I can even get near to the truck’s fuel cap. “Fill her up won’t you, Hon,” she asked Lyra who took her hands out of her pocket to do as she was asked.

We walk briskly towards the restroom where Krystal hurriedly enters a stall while I wash my hands and splashed some water on my face. I was drying my hands with a paper towel when Krystal spoke. “While I’m very happy for you and Cosima, don’t forget that you still owe me a story –and don’t even think about leaving out the hot, juicy, salacious details,” she said before flushing the toilet and coming out of the stall. Looking at my reflection through an old mirror sporting random brown and black spots, I can say that the dinginess of the public toilet did not prevent me from blushing at Krystal’s words.

“I will tell you,” I told her, “but I have to tell Lyra first...I’m just trying to find the right time for it.”

It was Krystal’s turn to wash her hands while I used the stall. “Why don’t we get separate rooms once we’re in Salem and you can tell her then; that way even if she has issues, she has no choice but to deal with it - she’s going to be stuck with us for another 9 hours after Oregon after all. Though I’m pretty sure Lyra will be fine with you and Cosima. Just tell her how happy she makes you and she’ll come around. Your daughter adores you no matter who you’re sharing your bed with.”

“From your lips to God’s ears, I guess,” I said, well-aware that telling Lyra about Cosima comes with a confession that will drive a wedge between me and my daughter.

\-----

After finishing my business with the travel agency - who promised that everything will be ready in two days’ time - I walk towards Powell Station to catch the train. I mindlessly grip on a pole as I kept myself busy during the short, half-an-hour commute by taking in the sceneries around me - very much aware that this may be the last time that I would make this trip to Dogpatch after three years of taking the train or hopping on my bike to get to Shay’s apartment from my studio. 10 stops later, I get off and walk with my empty luggage in tow until I reach the apartment building and put in the key to the front door keyhole.

Unlike the rickety one in my studio, the elevator servicing this complex is well-lit, dependable, and spacious – which would serve me well later when I leave with my belongings. I waited for a mom and her son to get in before pressing the button for Shay’s apartment, amused when the little boy began drawing patterns over my luggage’s loud design. They waved a polite goodbye before getting off on the fourth floor, leaving me all alone in the elevator as it climbed then opened to the 5th floor hallway.

I enter the familiar one-bedroom apartment and began taking stock of the things I am taking with me – clothes (mostly casual ones and a couple of formal dresses); a few painting supplies and materials that have been with me since I left New York to become a full-time artist; and some books I’ve accumulated in my years of living in San Francisco. The plan is for me to pack my things efficiently before waiting for Shay to get home so I can come clean and be honest about me to her for the first time. I bring my luggage with me as I make my way to the bedroom, haphazardly grabbing and stashing my blouses, pants, skirts, and books before coming back to the small space in the living room where I painted.

I was almost finished packing up my art materials and supplies when I noticed a neatly-wrapped rectangular package just below the generic easel stand I use whenever I’m here. I close the inexpensive, but sentimentally priceless, plastic paint palettes that have served me well for many years before tearing a small section of the brown wrapping paper to reveal the painting that Delphine wanted to buy from the exhibit. I didn’t even notice the door opening until Shay spoke, forgetting my surroundings and what I’m supposed to be doing at the prospect of being able to personally give this to her in a few weeks’ time.

“I brought it home...” she said – unusually business-like and devoid of any strong emotions - “thinking that maybe if I hold it hostage, you’d finally come here to talk to me and let me in. That’s what our relationship has come to, it seems.”

“Thank you,” I meekly said as I notice her taking a glance at the unzipped luggage now brimming with my stuff. “I’m sorry it has come to this. I should have been straight with you, should have ended it sooner.” Shay turned her face away from me even before she walked towards the kitchen to grab a glass and pour some wine. She tugged at her earlobe while taking her first sip, as if telling me that I should provide further explanation about me and my actions these past few days.

“There is a reason why I’m not letting you in...Why I haven’t let anybody in since I left Wyoming if I’m really being honest,” I said while fiddling with one of my many bracelets around my wrist. “The truth is it’s because there is already someone in here,” tapping at my heart as I see lines appearing between her brows, “there has always been someone else.”

Shay gnashed her teeth and rolled her eyes in irritation and anger. “So the past three years meant absolutely nothing to you? Is that what you’re saying? What I am just the convenient, warm body you tolerate enough to live with whenever you want or fuck whenever you’re horny? Is that it, Cosima? ‘Cause it sure as hell feels like it!” She said as angry tears begin to trickle from her eyes.

“No they weren’t nothing,” I replied as Shay sneered at my seemingly half-hearted denial. “A lot of it meant something to me -” 

“Oh what?!? Like me working for you for free? Selling and harping about you and your pathetic barnyard art at no cost whatsoever?” Shay scoffed. While that’s not exactly true since the gallery would rake in a 50% commission from the sold exhibit pieces (and she would most likely get a 10 to 15% commission from the gallery’s take), I let her comment slide because she has every right to be pissed and angry at me outside our professional relationship. I bite my tongue instead of biting her head off, electing to give her the time to simmer in her anger so she can hurl and let out what she’s feeling towards me – no matter how nasty her words may be. It is what I deserve after all for in this room, I am the asshole.

“I gave you everything I have,” she said before letting out a harsh breath, “and you’re standing here all calm and collected, packing your things and telling me there’s someone else all these years that we lived here...Fucking unbelievable...”

I take a deep breath before speaking, strengthening my resolve to not fight fire with fire. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? You shouldn’t settle for someone who will always reserve their true, warts-and-all version of themselves for someone else. You don’t deserve somebody who can’t let you in, who keeps up appearances around you. And I’m really, truly sorry that my running away from what I feel and from this person has caused you this kind of pain.”

Shay looks at me with narrow eyes before exasperatedly covering them with her palms. She takes a gulp of her wine before refilling her glass. “Did you even love me?” She asked, her voice only containing a surprisingly small hint of anger and an even more unexpected dose of tenderness.

I knew that even amidst the anger and hurt, this question is bound to come up this afternoon, and frankly, it’s the only question that I dreaded because the answer – no matter how honest – is going to be an acknowledgment of my cowardice not only towards my relationship with Shay, but towards how I’ve lived my life after running away from Wyoming, from my family, from the ranch, from Delphine.

“I did...but not as much as I loved her, still love her,” I confessed. “For what it’s worth, I really tried. You made me want to try and try and try. But no matter what I do, it’s just not working. It’s still her, after all these years...”

I stay glued to the corner of the living room where I’ve been standing since she came home while she moves from one side of the kitchen nearer to the main door. “That recurring dream you told me about,” Shay said – clearly on to something – “the one where you’re in a fucking car with someone and she suddenly disappears when you look away for even just a fraction of a second,” she continued as she crosses her arms over her chest, “it’s not Sarah isn’t?”

“No,” I said looking down at my feet, feeling absolutely small and rotten about sucker-punching the woman I was with for more than three years. There was silence after, which was broken by the sound of an empty-again wine glass making contact with a table. As I look up, Shay was making her way back to the door as she re-wears her coat.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” she sarcastically quipped while slinging her bag to her shoulder. “I expect you to be out of here when I come back. And would you leave my goddamn keys before you leave? That’ll be swell.”

I squeezed my eyes shut as I nod my head, quite sure that I don’t deserve the relatively humane treatment that Shay is extending to me as I end our relationship. Still, I proceeded to pack my things swiftly and quietly – thinking that between Delphine and me, I’m the one who still had it easy. What I’m doing right now - breaking up with another woman - is minute compared to the magnitude of what she plans to do - essentially admitting to her daughter about committing adultery with me.

I take one last look at Shay who I caught glaring at me while she holds on to the door knob. “I guess it was nice not knowing you, Cosima,” she said as she closes the door on me and our relationship forever.

\-----

After splitting more than nine hours’ worth of driving between me and Lyra, we arrive in Salem, Oregon at a little past 10 in the evening. True to her word, Krystal proudly announced that she would get a separate room because she needs her beauty rest. “All that touring has given me sunspots!” She dramatically said – which is an obvious exaggeration, given how perfect her skin still is even after all the walking and hiking we did these past few days. 

As Krystal bids as good night and disappears from the lobby, I approach the front desk with Lyra by my side. “Can we get a smoking room instead of the non-smoking one?” I asked the receptionist, my daughter quite surprised by my request. Luckily, there were still a few smoking rooms with separate double beds available and the receptionist quickly sorted out our reservation to give us the key to our new room. I give Lyra the key, telling her to come up before me so she can order room service because I need to make a phone call.

I motion for the receptionist to let me use the phone as I punch Cosima’s number to call collect. It was late at night so the charges would be cheaper and while I wait for the line to connect, I realized that I didn’t even consider if she’s still awake. But I quickly tossed my worries to the wind when Cosima answered the phone within three rings.

“Hello?” Cosima said, her voice obviously expectant and hopeful, which warms my heart.

“It’s me, ma chérie. We just got to Oregon. I miss you,” I said straightforwardly, conscious of the dent that this call would make on Cosima’s phone bill.

“I miss you too...so much. How are you?” She replied as I clutch on the receiver, foolishly hoping that she can somehow feel my touch through the telephone.

“I’m good. I’m telling Lyra tonight,” I shared, expecting silence from Cosima, but instead getting a different response that made me realize that telling Lyra about us is the right thing to do.

“I ended things with Shay tonight. I got here with my things around three hours ago. And I booked a flight to Vancouver for Thanksgiving this afternoon. I love you, Delphine. I love you so much.”

“I love you so much too,” I said, closing my eyes and allowing myself to imagine her hands on me even for just a few seconds. “I have to go,” I said, “I’ll call you from home. Bye. Je t'aime.”

“I love you too. Bye.”

I put the phone down with a smile, finding it funny how a lot can be shared and exchanged in a minute-long phone call. After thanking the receptionist, I take the elevator to get to our room where I see Lyra looking at the room service menu while sitting in the middle of her chosen bed. “I’m going to get us salads and sandwiches, Maman,” she said while I put the bags down. “Do you want anything to drink?” She asked and I said I’m good with just water - even if I wanted to order a bottle of merlot for some liquid courage.

“Let me order the food. You go and take your shower, ma poulette,” I said as I put my hands on her. She’s been looking forward to a shower since we crossed state lines, complaining that the other hostel guests in Pescadero were hogging the shared bathroom. She gives me a loving kiss on the forehead as she grabs a change of clothes and heads to the shower.

After placing the order, I sit on a chair and rummage for my cigarettes in my handbag. I have never smoked in front of Lyra and now may just be a good time to do so – let all the secrets out tonight, I guess. I was on my second stick of cigarette when Lyra emerged from the bathroom and instead of being surprised, Lyra reaches for her own bag and lights a stick before taking the seat in front of me.

“I have known for a while that you smoke, Maman,” Lyra said when she sensed the need to explain her lack of surprise at my nicotine habit. “I've caught a whiff of cigarette smoke at the house - sometimes late at night, but usually during early mornings,” she added.

I take in my daughter’s words, stopping myself from asking what she’s doing up so late or where did she come home from during those times when she smelled cigarettes at the house. I remind myself that she’s not the one who’s in the hot seat tonight – she’s not ready to disclose anything about her and Gabi. I on the other hand have kept Cosima in the shadows of my heart for so long, and I couldn’t hold her in there anymore – especially now when we have an actual chance at being together.

She was stubbing her cigarette when room service arrived with our food. A few more cigarettes later and the salads have been devoured. We were in the middle of consuming the club sandwich when I began my confession.

“Remember the story I used to tell you when you were young?” I asked as I wipe crumbs away from my lips.

“You told me a lot of stories, Maman, which one?” She said as she blows a cloud of smoke before helping herself with some water.

“The one about Orion’s lost shoulder,” I said almost in a whisper.

Lyra tilted her head to the side, trying to remember the particular bedtime story I was referring to. “Yes, I remember,” she finally said. “You told me that story on my first night sleeping alone in my room. I think I was...6? You put glow in the dark stars on my ceiling so I wouldn’t be afraid of the dark,” she said with a laugh.

“You remember how that story goes, ma poulette?” I prodded as I nervously fish for a stick from my cigarette pack.

Lyra chewed and swallowed her food before answering me, her eyes looking at me with curiosity as to where this conversation is going. “It’s about two girls looking up in the night sky,” she said. “The first girl, a brown-haired girl, noticed that Orion is missing his right shoulder. The second girl, a blonde, looked up and said ‘_You’re right – he’s missing his shoulder. Let’s look for it!_’ Am I getting the story right, Maman?”

I nodded and proceeded to continue the story from there as I flick the ashes of my lit cigarette on an ashtray. “So every night since that discovery, the two girls met on a clearing by the water – dreamily gazing at the night sky, looking for Orion’s missing shoulder among the sea of stars. And although their nightly search is always fruitless, the girls did not mind for they had each other – often snuggling in one thick blanket on nights that are too cold.”

Lyra rested her elbow on the table and cradled her chin on the palm of her hand. “And then something happened, right? That part I forgot,” she said.

I suck on my cigarette before continuing the story I wove at the last minute back when Lyra wanted nothing more but to sleep beside me and her Papa. “Yes, something happened,” I answer. “One cold and snowy night, the girl with yellow hair accidentally fell on the river, and though the brown-haired girl was able to pull her out, the reality of the ice cold water made her believe how hopeless their cause is.”

“ ‘_We will never find it! We have to stop now!_’ The blonde girl said,” Lyra exclaims, still perplexed as to why I’m bringing up the story, but seemingly enjoying the fact that she still remembers it even after all these years.

“Yes,” I said – confirming that her memory serves her right. “The other girl wouldn’t have any of it and said they should still continue because they believe in each other – that they can find Orion’s missing shoulder if they stay together.”

“ _‘I have to go home_’,” the blonde said. And like Orion’s missing shoulder, they never saw each other again. Geez Maman,” Lyra said, her words garbled but intelligible as she puts another cigarette between her lips and lights it with her fancy lighter. “That’s a depressing story now that I’m hearing it as an adult.”

I nod while I rub my temples with my free hand as my other hand nurses a cigarette in between fingers. “You remember what you always asked me whenever I told you that story?” I asked her.

Lyra massages the back of her neck while she exhales her cigarette’s smoke. “Oui, I remember Maman. _'What happened to the other girl? The one with the brown hair?'_ You didn’t answer it until I begged you to and then finally, you said that she continued looking for Orion’s missing shoulder - traveling from one unknown place to another in her search. Never forgetting the other girl, but making sure to search for the missing star on her own...Yup, depressing children’s story, Maman. But why are we talking about this now?” She asked with a chuckle.

I took a long drag of my cigarette - a last minute preparation for what I’m about to tell her. “Ask me that question again, ma poulette.”

She raised a brow at my request, but proceeded to humor me. “O-kay Maman, so where did the brown-haired girl go?”

“In San Francisco...” I said, making sure to look her in the eye. “She went to San Francisco...and back to the girl with the yellow hair.”

Lyra leaned back in her chair in shock, letting the cigarette’s paper turn into ash, as she quietly swirls in confusion.

“Maman...”She finally spoke when an ember fell on her skin. “You...and Cosima?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this update - I was away for work and barely had the time to write. Thank you to those who are still reading this, and leaving kudos and comments. I appreciate feedback (don't let my late replies to your comments fool you :D ) so let me know what works and what doesn't work for you. See you in the next chapter!


	10. Thanksgiving Part 1, 1983: Coming to Terms

** _Three Days before Thanksgiving_ **

It would be easy to think that I drove for more than two hours in scalding 100-degree weather judging only by how sweaty my palms are as I wait in a sandwich shop while clutching a cup of coffee that I absent-mindedly over-sugared. And while the part about driving for a couple of hours is true, the same cannot be said about today’s weather - it’s currently chilly outside, with the first patches of snow beginning to coat the grounds. I even made sure to pack a thick and dependable jacket, beanie, and gloves in the car the night before just in case Cosima doesn’t have appropriate clothes with her. Naturally, the snow and the cold give us more to do and worry about in the ranch. Yet it seems that no matter how busy I am at work, most of my thoughts still revolve around the reasons behind my clammy palms.

The first reason resides right here in the city – someone I haven’t spoken to since that night in a Salem hotel when she asked me for time and space to deal with matters at her own pace. I can imagine her now: hunched over a pile of papers in a lab, and probably choosing to unwisely skip lunch - figuring she can always grab a quick, unhealthy snack from the nearest vending machine.

The other reason is currently cruising 35,000 feet above me, bound to come out from one of the gates in half an hour. Yesterday, I was able to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks - falling asleep right after our late-night phone call. Perhaps the good night’s rest was a small reprieve designed to help me deal with today’s special mixture of excitement, anxiety, happiness, and despair at knowing that I’m here in the city because Cosima is arriving to spend Thanksgiving with me, while also being reminded that Lyra is just a short, 25-minute drive away from the airport - refusing to meet me or even return my calls.

“_Announcing the arrival of Canadian Pacific Airlines Flight CP 1331 from San Francisco,_” the airport loudspeaker squawked, disrupting me from my thoughts. “_Please be advised that CP 1331 passengers are set to disembark on Gate 3, thank you._” As the announcer repeats the same message, I throw away the cup and pick up the bag of winter clothes to make my way to the arrivals section. On the way there, I was tempted to make a stop to a smoking lounge but immediately thought against it, not wanting to risk not being there once Cosima gets her luggage and clears immigration. 

I stood by the gate with the backpack of clothes at my feet, surrounded by other people also eagerly waiting for the first throngs of passengers to exit through the glass doors. I was pacing then jostling for a better position for a considerable amount of time until someone grabbed me by the elbow. I turn and even before she said a word, the sweaty palms that have been bothering me since I got to the airport suddenly became the farthest thing in my mind. “Hi,” Cosima said as her mouth curved into a smile. I can’t help but reach out for an embrace, sneaking my arms and bypassing the thin coat she’s wearing because I wanted nothing more than to feel her body’s soothing warmth on my palms. We stay this way until the last batch of passengers exit the gate, not giving a care in the world what other people thought of two women being so close to each other in such a public space.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I whispered to her ear and I think she feels the same way as she tries to burrow her face tighter on the side of my neck. Just then, I noticed that she already got a trolley filled with several pieces of luggage – perhaps too much luggage for a week-long stay.

“I brought you these,” opening the backpack after reluctantly letting her go, “you’re not going to last long in this weather if you’re sticking with what you’re wearing,” tugging on the collar of her red coat. She opens the bag and wears my coat over hers then she rubbed her palms together before putting on the gloves. “I’ll skip the beanie for now,” she said, choosing to pocket it instead of wearing it as we make our way to the parking lot.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you how chilly it is here,” I said as the first gust of cold wind hits us. We’ve been having late-night phone calls like clockwork since I got back on the ranch, and lost in all the catching up we’ve been doing is an update on the weather. We walked quickly and when we got to the car, Cosima insisted on loading her bags by herself. I went on to start the engine, waiting for the heater to kick so that she would be comfortable once she gets in.

But once she’s inside the privacy of my car, Cosima quickly goes in for a kiss which I enthusiastically reciprocate. “That,” she said after playfully nibbling my lower lip, “is enough to warm me up until we get to your ranch.”

I take quick glances at Cosima while we drive back to Pemberton, marveling at her childlike reactions as we make our way outside the city. “Wow,” she exclaimed as we drive on Lions Gate Bridge, “this is just so beautiful,” reaching out for my free hand to envelop it with both her hands. I hear the same sentiments again as she sees Horseshoe Bay and then Daisy Lake from the highway after asking her how her flight was (“it was good, if a bit bumpy”), if she wanted to stop for lunch (“no, I’m good, I just want to get home”), and what she wanted to do once we get in the ranch (“a little lie down, perhaps,” she said with a wink).

“I’m so happy I took the morning flight,” bringing the hand she’s holding to her lips to give it a gentle, lingering kiss. “I wouldn’t have seen all these if I took the 6 p.m. flight - it’s so worth the extra 30 dollars,” she uttered while she looks at me as we drive past Green Lake. “Thank you for inviting me over,” and scoots closer to put her arms around me.

“Thank you for being here,” I replied as I kiss her forehead while she rests her head on my shoulder, her reassuring presence and touches helping in temporarily allaying my fears and uncertainties about Lyra.

\-----

We reach Delphine’s ranch around late afternoon and when we got to her house, Krystal was already there - sitting on the porch with two guys who she introduced after hugging me tight to be Scott: her husband, and Mark: her son. The first word that popped in my head when I saw Delphine’s house is _charming_ \- with its unassuming green roof, large glass windows framed in mahogany, and wood shingles that smell like cedars. There is a thick wooden sliding patio door that leads inside, while the porch beams have plants and lights hanging on them. Behind the house, a snow-capped mountain looms magnificently large.

As I take in the scenery around me, I see Mark going towards the back of the truck to carry my bags into the house. I ran towards where he is to make sure that I personally carry my most precious cargo for this trip. “What’s that?” Krystal quizzed as I notice Delphine and Scott at the side of the house, currently locked in what seems like a pretty serious conversation. “It’s a gift for her,” I said as she helps me carry the bulky package inside.

Stepping inside Delphine’s home for the first time, I can see that the house’s charms extend to its interiors. The first floor is just one open space where there is a brown leather couch facing a free-standing fireplace, a dining table that can seat at least eight people, a full kitchen, and stairs leading to the rooms above. There are several pieces of art, rugs, and photos adorning the walls, and I make a mental note to check them out later. I was already in the middle of the stairs about to explore the upper floor when Delphine enters. Shortly, Krystal, Scott, and Mark are bidding us goodbye, but not before Krystal hands me a food container.

“I made you this perfect-for-this-weather vegetarian meatball soup,” she said, “although I don’t think you’d need any more help in getting warmed up,” she added discreetly with a sly smile as she looks to us both. “Thanks,” I said, inspecting the transparent and still-hot food bin as they leave. And just when I thought that Delphine and I are finally alone, Scott returns with a knock.

“I’ve tasted it,” he cautiously said with no preamble as soon as the door opens, “it’s almost...edible...but please don’t tell her I said that,” he pleaded while pointing to the soup before leaving with an awkward wave and smile. Delphine then looked out the door and watched Krystal and her family drive away before speaking.

“So,” she turned to face me as she shrugs her shoulders, “this is me.”

“You have a lovely home,” I replied moving towards her to capture her lips. Our first kiss inside her house started out as nothing but a chaste brush. Soon after though, we’re turning Krystal’s ribbing into a reality as we get carried away by our deeper kisses and arousing touches. “You should nap first,” she suggested after pulling away, “I know you’ve had a long day...” And while it was quite a tiring trip, Delphine has ensnared her lower lip with her teeth - which makes it hard for me to take her up on her offer because I’d rather be awake to kiss her senseless. Still, she takes me by the hand to lead me upstairs.

We land on a homey common room filled with books, records, and a record player before walking to the farthest room from the stairs – Delphine’s bedroom. It is cozy inside, with a perfect view of the mountains - which Mark told me to be Mount Currie. Her scent - a hint of sweat, her perfume, and lavender soap - permeates in the room where a very comfortable-looking four-poster bed seems to be personally inviting me to take a load off and snuggle.

“The bathroom’s right here,” Delphine said opening the door to the en suite. “I’ll just be downstairs mon amour,” she then said as she lets go of my hand.

“Wait, I have something for you – just wait right here,” I said as I hurriedly go down to the living room to get the package that Krystal and I carried just a while ago. She was already at the top of the stairs by the time I came back up.

“This is for you,” I exhaled while I set down the rectangular package on the carpeted floor to lean it on a wall. “I’m not so sure...” I continued while Delphine opens her gift, “but I think it was you who wanted to buy it the night of the exhibit.” At my words, she looked up to me with eyes that seem to sparkle. “But if you weren’t the buyer, I’d still want to give you this...Just to show you how much you inspired my work all these years even if -”

“It was me,” she said as she tears the wrapper exposing my depiction of our last ride together as we go back to the lowlands. “I wanted it because...” and Delphine had to pause to wipe errant tears from her cheeks, “at this moment - when we’re leaving the cabin, I was silently begging for you to look at me. Because if you turned around, you would have seen me saying how much I love you, saying how much I don't want us to end. And if you would have seen that, maybe you wouldn’t hate me so much...” 

The cold weather outside did not prevent me from melting at her words. Getting weak in the knees, I kneel next to her as she looks at the painting. I clutch her face and give her a kiss on her cheek. “I love you,” I whispered, “I admit I wanted to just hate you back then, but I couldn’t. I love you too much.”

“I love you too,” she replied as she runs her fingers on the canvas, not being able to stop myself from feeling grateful that I’m here with her amidst life’s twists and turns.

\-----

I honestly forgot about this painting after everything that has happened since Cosima and I reunited. The last time I thought of it was during that aimless walk around San Francisco, surrendering to the possibility that somebody else would have already bought it as soon as I left the gallery. But it’s here now - brought by the woman who drew it; the woman I’ve loved for more than a quarter of a century; the very same woman holding me in her arms now after I confided the reason why I wanted the painting in the first place.

As much as I want to keep talking to Cosima, I know she’s tired from her trip - I even saw her try to stifle a yawn the first time she entered my bedroom and now while we kneel before the painting. “Come,” I said, extending a hand to her as soon as I got up. She takes my hand and I lead her back to my room, no longer resisting my offer for a little rest before dinner.

I close the curtains as Cosima removes her coats, folding them before putting it on the bedroom bench. I watch her take off her shoes and set it to the side before she climbed on the bed. She removes her glasses and I walk over to the side she picked, intending to give her a quick peck on her forehead before heading downstairs - when she softly grabs me by the wrist.

“Stay,” she asked, her voice as soft as the snow falling and pooling on the window sill. “Sleep beside me,” she added with a small but hopeful smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She didn’t need to ask me twice as I remove my shoes and take the empty side of the bed. I press myself on her back and let my hand rest on her waist before she pulls me tighter around her. I breathe her in and kiss her on her head and nape, the rhythm of her body as it relaxes and goes to sleep lulling me to let go of the chores I planned on doing to spend a lazy afternoon with her. When I opened my eyes again, it was already quite dim outside and a quick look at the clock showed that it’s just a little past 6 p.m. I give Cosima one last kiss before carefully leaving the bed, making sure to not disrupt her nap.

I open a few lights downstairs to go to the kitchen and make us some dinner. When I pass by the living room, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at seeing Krystal’s welcome gift to Cosima on the coffee table in the living room. I pick it up to bring it with me to the kitchen where I open the lid to sneak a taste, appreciating the effort that Krystal put in to make Cosima feel at home on her first day here. Scott is right though – it doesn’t taste good, but the meatballs are quite alright which means the entire dish is salvageable. I transfer it to a small soup pot while I look at the various herbs and seasoning available that would work best with it. I then let it simmer over low heat after adding some chopped Yukon Gold potatoes, a cup of cream, a dash of thyme, a single bayleaf, a few cloves of garlic, and a pinch of basil. I was waiting for it to boil when I decided to pick up the phone. I know that Lyra answering the phone is a long shot, but I dialed her apartment nevertheless. As expected, it was her machine who greeted me and when I heard the beep, I left her another message.

“Lyra, ma poulette, it’s Maman again,” I started. “I don’t know if you received my other messages, but I just want you to know that I miss you. I was in the city this afternoon, in the airport to pick up Cosima...” I paused, unsure if I should have said that, but knowing it’s too late to take it back and that lying isn’t going to help improve matters between us. “I wanted to drop by your office, but as you requested, I’m trying to give you the space you asked for...I just called to ask if you’re coming for Thanksgiving. Will you please let me know? Je t’aime, ma plus chère fille, mon véritable amour.” 

I put the phone down, deciding to focus on cooking the steak I prepared yesterday instead of waiting for it to ring. It wasn’t long before I hear the sound of shuffling feet from above, followed by Cosima coming down the stairs a few minutes later.

\----

** _Two Days before Thanksgiving_ **

It scares me a little how the inspiration to sketch and paint comes so easily for me nowadays. That’s normally not the case: I have a tendency to lay low after finishing a substantial amount of work; choosing to rest my mind, hands, and eyes for weeks before picking up a pencil or a brush again. The exhibit took every ounce of inspiration I had and when I finished all the paintings for it, I kinda predicted that I’d be out of commission for at least two months. I even prepared to suffer from the artist’s equivalent of writer’s block – for my painting and drawing to hit the doldrums and stagnate because I’ll just keep copying myself and my previous work.

But here I am now, wrapped in a warm quilt and sitting on Delphine’s porch with a pencil and sketchpad on my lap – finishing a landscape drawing of her charming house. I even know the next sketch I’m doing after this – a portrait of Wayne, one of the ranch hands, and his seemingly-animated handlebar mustache. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise to me that I’m inspired today given how dreamy almost everything from last night was: snuggling with Delphine; sharing a meal together like an old married couple; making love in her bed over and over again like newlyweds; falling asleep in each other’s arms; and the best part - waking up beside her, with the knowledge that today we can do all that and more all over again.

She gets up early just like me and after our morning coffee, she took me on a tour of the Cormier, Moulin, Smith Ranch. I just got back from their new clinic where Delphine and Scott are helping another local farmer who is expecting twin births in one of his ewes. I smile when I heard about it, and I’m pretty sure that my reason for smiling is the same reason for Delphine’s subtle smirk. “_Another ewe with a lambing complication,_” I thought to myself leaving her to her work but not before casually patting her shoulder with Delphine catching my hand in time to hold it with hers. It may be a simple touch, but it speaks volumes to me that she's not hiding what we have from anybody.

I was already starting to draw the outlines of Wayne’s sketch when I heard a truck driving towards the house. I look up and it’s Krystal, coming out of her car with an excited smile on her face, carrying a pink bag. “I figured you can use the company,” she said as she takes the empty porch chair next to me and sets the bag on her lap. “And you promised to let me do your nails,” opening the bag and revealing various nail cutters, files, clippers, and bottles of nail polish.

I look at her and smile before closing my sketch pad. “Yeah, I did promise, didn't I?” I said. “Let me wash my hands first before we start,” I added when I got up to enter the house. “Okay,” Krystal replies, “I’ll go make us some tea,” she said as she comes with me.

It took me a while to wash the smudges of charcoal from my palms and fingers, scrubbing as hard and quickly as I can so as not to keep Krystal waiting. She was already outside when I came back with relatively dry and smudge-free hands. Not only did she make us some tea, she has also already spread out my nail polish choices. “The red one,” I said pointing to corresponding bottle, “red is my favorite.”

“Excellent choice,” and she motions for me to give her my hand. “So how did you like the soup?” She asked as she examines my nails while holding a nail cutter. “Yeah, just as I thought,” she mused, “you won’t be needing this,” tossing the nail cutter back in the bag then getting a nail file instead.

“It’s good,” I answered because it’s the truth – although I also know that Delphine modified it for it to taste good. “Thank you,” I said while she files my nails, “for this and the soup.”

“It’s nothing,” Krystal said with a wave of her hand, “it’s my small way of saying thank you to you for being there for Del.” I was about to say something nice about how lucky Delphine is to have a friend like her all these years, but her next words took me by surprise. “Don’t hurt her, you hear me?” The warm drawl of her voice totally replaced by a more serious, almost threatening tone. “I may have healing hands but the minute you hurt her, these soft hands will become your worst nightmare,” she uttered, “I mean it,” and she looks at me in the eye while buffing my nails.

“I can’t promise that,” I said – unsure whether I should be amused or a little scared by her protective instincts, “but I will promise to try my best to make her happy and to not hurt her.” Krystal looks at me with narrowed eyes, as if she’s gauging if my answer will suffice. “That’s good enough for me, I guess,” she said with a grin as she gets a bottle of lotion and slathers it all over my hand before getting a metal stick with a flat but sharp edge that she uses on my nails.

And while Krystal explains what she’s doing (“I’m pushing back your cuticles and being very careful not to cut them”), I thought of the only source of my anxiety last night – of being at the edge of the stairs as I listen to Delphine leave a message for Lyra in a voice that’s trying to play it cool but is obviously tinged with yearning. In our many phone calls between the last time we saw each other and yesterday when we reunited, she mentioned that Lyra asked to be left alone so she can process our relationship. But I know that trying to respect her wishes is killing Delphine and after her phone call to Lyra last night, I’ve decided that I should try to do something about it. After all, it was Delphine who promised to leave her alone – not me. And who better to ask for information and help but Delphine’s best friend.

“Krystal,” I said as she shakes a bottle of transparent polish before opening it, “what happened in the car ride from Salem to here?”

She gave half a shrug and opens the bottle to apply the glossy and gel-like liquid on my nails. “Nothing happened,” she mumbled, “but it’s probably the longest nine hours of my life...It was so quiet inside that truck.” 

“That bad, huh?” I asked, trying to go for a deadpan tone but ultimately failing to hide the worry I feel about what happened between Lyra and Delphine because of me.

“Let’s just say that when I saw Lyra openly smoking in front of her mom,” she said as she finishes applying the transparent polish, “I knew it didn’t go well.” She shakes the red nail polish I chose before twisting it open and dabbing the brush for it to get a healthy amount of color. “But I won’t worry too much about that,” she continued as she begins to apply the nail polish on my thumbnail. “Lyra has always been moody...even as a child she’s too inward, you know? Honestly, I’d be more worried if she reacted like I reacted - all happy and giddy about you two!” Her voice squeaks a little at the last two words of her remark.

“So should I be worried about what you think of Delphine and me?” I jokingly asked.

“No, silly!” She answered as she uses her own nails to perfect the polish’s coating. “Delphine told me everything about you two - how it started, what happened after, all those years apart, the mind-blowing sex – and it shocked me of course, but everything that shocked me is in the past, well most of it,” she grins as she takes the opportunity to tease me. “Now, the only thing important to me is that you guys are happy at last,” she looks at me with a quiet smile. “Okay, so we have to wait for two minutes before I apply the next coat of polish,” she said as she examines her handiwork.

This time, I take the chance to tell her what I should have told her before she semi-threatened me. “Delphine is so lucky to have a friend like you,” I said, “thank you for being her friend – for sticking by her all these years.”

“Oh, honey!” Krystal replied, dramatically fanning herself with her hands. “That’s so sweet! You’re going to make me cry!” I let out an amused laugh which makes Krystal snicker as well. She was already putting the second coat of polish when an idea struck me.

“Can I ask you a favor?” I sheepishly asked and Krystal nods.

\-----

** _The Day before Thanksgiving_ **

I’ve been trying to find a way to expedite my master’s for quite some time now so that I can start with the busier PhD/MD track soon. Two days ago, I finally convinced my research supervisor to convene a committee meeting where I presented what I have done so far for my thesis. Thankfully, they were impressed, so I immediately requested for a transfer to the PhD program. If all goes well, I’d be neck-deep in my doctorate by next year. I’ve also picked up a few extra weekend shifts at work on top of my new 2 p.m. to 7 p.m. weekday schedule, which makes me busier than ever. My usual day now starts at 7 a.m. when I go to the university’s microbiology lab to do research and experiments for my thesis; then I’m off to a couple of classes that I TA before having a quick lunch on the way to where I am now – work, where I compare lab results and keep tabs on the various bacterial cultures under my supervision. Any free time I have left is dedicated to writing my thesis or grading student papers.

It’s working so far - school and work are doing their intended function of saving me from thinking too much about Maman and Cosima...among other confusing things. I haven’t spoken to Maman since the day she dropped me off in my flat – when just the night before, she told me about her relationship with Cosima. I naturally asked her a few questions after her confession: When did it start? When did it end? When was the last time they saw each other before San Francisco? How could you do this to Papa? And while I remember her trying to answer everything in detail, it was very hard for me to wrap my head around all that new information.

But the easiest thing to do after Maman’s admission is to do the math - I quickly pieced her answers together to form a timeline of their relationship. She was married to Papa when they started their relationship – that much is obvious. And I was born on March 1958, so that would mean that Maman was already pregnant with me when she herded sheep with Cosima in the highlands, when they fell in love, and when they separated. I bit my tongue after putting two and two together that night - too afraid to ask her the reason why they broke up because I think I already know the answer. I then resolved to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the night and during the long drive from Oregon to Vancouver.

My life may be full of uncertainties, but I’ve always found comfort in feeling just how much Maman loves me. But knowing about her relationship with Cosima comes with the knowledge that she had silently grappled with unhappiness all these years – an almost debilitating sadness that I caused. It made me question whether Maman resented me amidst all the love I feel from her. I know it’s unfair to think that way, but I can’t stop myself from considering it which is why I’ve been keeping my distance from her since coming back from San Francisco.

To be honest, I don’t even know how I really feel about Maman and Cosima’s relationship per se. There is a part of me that feels betrayed – Maman fell in love with someone else and cheated on Papa. But there’s a bigger part of me that’s happy for them – their timing may be wrong in so many levels, but that doesn’t diminish the love they seem to have for each other. Besides, personal experience has taught me that you can’t really control when you fall in love or who you love. And if I unpack the layers of emotions and thoughts I have about Maman and Cosima, it would yield this hidden feeling of jealousy – this misplaced wish for me to have what they have with Gabi.

Gabi is...my life’s biggest lingering uncertainty. And I wish I can talk to her about all these because I feel so utterly lost outside work and school. Maybe I should write her a letter - just ramble on about everything and nothing. Or maybe I should just call her.

The phone in the lab rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Cecil from the lobby. May I speak with Lyra Cormier?”

“This is she. What can I do for you?”

“There’s someone here looking for you - a certain Miss Cosima Niehaus. Will you be seeing her?”

\----

“Got it, I’ll tell her. Thanks,” the receptionist said before putting the phone down. On the way to the building where she works, I was already thinking of contingencies just in case Lyra refuses to see me. I figured I can charm this Cecil girl into letting me inside, and if that fails, I wouldn’t mind sitting on one of the benches near the building's revolving main door to wait for Lyra.

“Alright Miss Niehaus,” she said as she opens one of her desk drawers. “Miss Cormier said that she will meet you at the cafeteria on the 7th floor. Please wear this and take the farthest elevator on the left,” she instructed as she hands me a Visitor’s I.D. I pinned it to my bag strap near my chest and thanked her before pressing the button and hopping on the elevator.

The cafeteria of the pharmaceutical company where Lyra works is sprawling, occupying almost half of the 7th floor. And while it’s teeming with food and drink choices, there are only a handful of people inside – most likely because it’s the middle of the afternoon and people have just taken their break or are busy finishing their work. I went to a coffee cart and bought a couple of cappuccinos before choosing a table near the entrance so that I can immediately spot Lyra when she gets here. I have downed a quarter of my coffee when she emerges.

“Well this is a surprise,” she remarked as she stands in front of me, unsure whether to take a seat or get it over and done with as quick possible.

“Sorry for barging in without telling you,” I said as I push the cup of coffee towards her, urging her to sit down. “I hope I’m not disturbing you..." 

“I’m here aren’t I?” She retorted before pulling the chair in front of me to sit. “I see Krystal has done your nails,” pointing to my hands cradling the cappuccino.

“She’s the one who told me where I can find you,” I explained after taking a quick glance of my manicured nails. “How have you been?”

Lyra took off the lid to put a packet of sugar in her coffee. “Fine. What are you doing here, Cosima? Did Maman sent you?” She asked as she stirs.

“No,” I took a sip of my coffee, “I had a couple of meetings with local art dealers and galleries in the city. But I’m here because I wanted to talk to you.”

She grimaced as she took the first gulp of coffee, and I quietly berate myself for not thinking that maybe - just like her Maman - she prefers her coffee black. She takes another sip anyway. “Look if you’re here to ask for my blessing for you to be with my mother...Don’t even bother,” she coldly said. “My opinion doesn’t matter -”

“It does,” I said, cutting her off but trying to stay collected. “It’s the only thing that matters.”

She smirks as she folds her arms. “Are you saying that you’re going to end things with Maman if I don’t approve of your relationship?”

“As painful as it would be,” pulling my chair to lean in closer to the table so she can hear me better, “I’d rather lose Delphine again instead of her losing you over me.” She avoided my gaze to bow her head and rub her temples. “I would do everything in my power to not let it come down to that,” I said, struggling to stay calm, “but you know where I stand should we get to that point.”

She runs her palms through her hair and let out a quiet but frustrated grunt. “You’re putting me in a tough spot...”

“You think I don’t know that?” I said, no longer concern if my emotions are showing. “I am very sorry for what we did to your father, I really am. It makes me feel rotten knowing that I hurt him. And I’m sure that your mother feels a hundred times worst about what we did to him – regardless if he knew about us or not. But...I don’t know if you can understand this, though I hope you do – we can’t choose who we fall in love with and when we fall in love with them. If only I can unlove your mother...” And though I promised myself that I won’t cry in front of Delphine’s daughter, I just couldn’t stop the tears from forming in my eyes. And even if she continues to avoid looking straight at me, she still reached inside her pocket to give me her handkerchief. My tears have already stopped falling when she spoke again.

“I think Papa knew...” She tentatively said, “And I may have been the one who told him.”

“I’m confused,” I said as I return her hanky. “How’s that possible?”

She pushes her coffee aside to set her palms on the table. “I was around 7. Maman came home late one night so Papa had to tuck me in. I asked him to tell me the story that Maman always tells me.”

I take off my glasses and wipe the lens with the sleeve of my coat. “What story?”

“The Orion story – two girls looking for Orion’s missing shoulder,” she answered, which confused me more because this is the first time I’m hearing about it. “Papa didn’t know it, so he said it would be great if I can tell the story so that the next time I asked, he’d know it. So I did. When the story ended, I remembered Papa being very quiet. He just left my room and didn’t even kiss me good night.”

“I still don’t understand...What does this -” I said as I put my glasses back on.

“A week later,” she continued - disregarding that I’m not following her train of thought, “Maman came down with the flu, so when I got to my room with Papa, he asked me to tell the story again. He was quiet after, like before – which got me worried so I asked him if it’s because he didn’t like the story. And you know what he said? He said that he thinks that the yellow-haired girl should have stayed with the brown-haired girl in their search because it seems that what they have is special - a once in a lifetime connection.”

I’m tempted to read between the lines, but I have to know for sure. “What are you trying to tell me, Lyra?”

“I’m saying I think he knew...” She whispered while looking at me for the first time this afternoon. “He knew and even he could see it - you: the brown-haired girl, and Maman: the girl with the yellow hair, are written in the stars – no pun intended,” she said with a forced smile. “I have a lot of feelings about you and Maman, but I love her – she’s all I have left. And know this - if you make her happy, then I won’t be in the way. You just have to give me time to deal with all the other emotions that comes along with knowing about your relationship.”

There’s my opening for the second half of my plan so I took the open shot – “Sounds to me like you need a friend to talk to...Have you spoken to Gabi about this yet?”

Lyra’s eyebrows waggled as she flinched at my words. “I think I’m the last person she wants to talk to.”

“Huh!” I unwittingly and accidentally said out loud because I was surprised. I was expecting a curt yes or no from her, but she seems to be actually sharing something about Gabi with me. But her eyes bore into mine, and I'm mentally kicking myself for not filtering my reactions. “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” I said, unsure of what to say since I don’t really know what’s the real score between Lyra and Gabi. “It’s just that...Gabi and I, we’ve met several times over coffee and lunch, and she talks about you around 80% of the time - you’re almost all she talks about. And maybe it’s just me...but you don’t talk that fondly and frequently about someone you don’t want to talk to.”

“What did she tell you?” And Lyra acts casually, but she can’t fool me because I can see a faint glimmer of a blush forming in her cheeks and on the tip of her ears.

“Little things...” And I relax into my seat while finishing my cappuccino. “She kept dorking out about how your undergraduate thesis can pass for a dissertation. I didn’t understand anything she said about it...But it has something to do with cancer and immunosuppressive factors? Sorry, I don’t know what that means,” and surprisingly, we both laugh. “And she also said something about a Marie Curie quote that you both liked. Let me see – ‘Nothing in life is to be feared...’ “

“It is only to be understood,” she continued. “Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.”

“Yeah, that!” I snapped my fingers. “She said you put it in your paper.”

“I...It was in the introduction.” Lyra stammered as she hears something unexpected from the person she least expected to say it. “I didn’t even know that she read it...”

I remember how Gabi’s hands animatedly flails and how her face lights up whenever she talks about it. It’s kind of reminiscent of the way Lyra looks now. “She said that she asked Delphine for a copy - that she read the one you placed in the ranch.”

Her smile lingered at what she heard, only for it to fade when she looked at her watch. “I should head back,” she said as she starts to get up from her seat.

“Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?” I pressed before she leaves.

She bit her lip before nodding. “I actually took some time off. I just didn’t tell Maman, but I’m going home. Sorry.”

“No worries,” I said. “If you want, we can go back to your Mom’s ranch together. I have someone to meet this afternoon and I can come pick you up later. I don’t know the roads that well and it would be great if you can drive us back,” I pushed my luck and asked.

I can see her considering my offer, hearing the gears as her brain weighs the pros and cons of driving together even if we haven’t resolved all of our tensions. She finally lets out a harsh breath and said, “Okay. I’ll be ready by 7:15. I’ll meet you in the driveway.”

“7:15 it is,” I said, offering my hand for her to shake – which she firmly took before leaving the cafeteria.

\-----

Cosima’s painting is still captivating even in the dimmest part of the house, and the longer I look at it the more I admire the talent, technique, and skill it took to churn out this piece of art.

It’s even more breathtaking when examined up close. For me, the painting manages to be both warm and gritty – there is color and life even in the rather gloomy portion of the trail that she chose to immortalize on canvas. She also managed to capture the afternoon summer rain; my messy and curly blonde hair as it gets wet; the different appearances and features of the horses and the herd of sheep; and the trampled wildflowers on the trail to the lowlands.

I wanted to find the perfect spot to hang it before Cosima comes back from the city, kind of like a little surprise for her. But to me, it’s more than just a surprise - I want her to see that I’ve made space for it in my home. And I hope my simple gesture conveys what I’ve been trying to do ever since we found each other again – how I’m trying to make substantial room for her in my life, which isn’t always easy given my daughter’s reaction.

I ended up choosing a space in my study, in the spot where I think the seeping sunlight from the window will give it additional warmth (not that it needed it). It won’t be in my direct line of sight when I’m by my desk, but it’s the first thing you will see when you enter the room. And the painting will never really be out of my sight for I could still see it in the periphery even if I’m hunched over my desk while updating the ranch’s records and books, or just writing down my thoughts in my journal.

As I hammer several hooks on the wall, I can’t help but think of the many things that could go wrong between Cosima and me from here on in. We’ve talked about most of it over the phone these past few weeks, and just the mere fact that we’re expressing it to each other is helping me breathe easy. For starters, Lyra might never come around to the idea and reality of our relationship – and I don’t really know where to go from there if she never accepts us. Down the road, maybe we would realize just how different we are and how much we’ve changed – enough for either one of us or both of us to decide that we made a mistake. There is also the matter of our locations and the distance between them – I’m needed here in Pemberton while Cosima’s life is in San Francisco. And of course, there are the things that are out of our hands: the possibility of being ostracized for being in love with each other; and the rumors that can spread about us, among many others.

With the hooks in place, I carefully lifted the framed painting to gently hang it on the wall. A few adjustments later, I take several steps back to give it a good look. The late afternoon sun bathed it with a different glow that highlights the painting’s red and green hues, making it look like a different painting altogether. It seems that this painting is meant to thrive anywhere; like it’s designed to adapt to bad light, to the wall’s crummy wallpaper, and to the chaos of papers and folders littering this room.

It’s almost dinner time when I finished hanging the painting and wiping the frame free of dust. I stand by the open door to take one last look at it – staring intently at the two women on horses and their continuing story – and just like that, I find myself smiling. Maybe like this painting, Cosima and I can adapt to whatever challenges life throws our way - that no matter how difficult the road ahead would be, we will find a way to thrive together.

\-----

I’ve lined up several meetings with art dealers and galleries in Vancouver before I left San Francisco through former clients and current contacts. The one who really came through for me is Paule, the founder of the gallery for the Transhumance exhibit – calling her contacts, setting up meetings for me, and putting in a good word about my work and my almost-sold out exhibit.

I didn’t want to get my hopes up at the start of the day – fully aware that my work may not be as well-received here, given how different the Vancouver art scene is from that of San Francisco’s. Yet if the meetings are any indications, I think my art may have a place here.

I ran late for the first meeting with a respected art dealer, who took me by surprise when he offered me outright representation – “It’ll be completely on your terms,” he said as he hands me his card and a draft of the contract. The second meeting was a luncheon inside one of Vancouver’s most progressive galleries. Gilbert, one of the founders, is one of Paule’s oldest friends and he offered me a space to showcase some of my finished works. He even lowered his gallery display fees by half. I plan on putting a couple of my paintings there as soon as possible.

The third and last meeting of the day was an odd one – it was with Professor Gault of the University of British Columbia. We met in her office inside the Art History and Visual Arts campus and after a couple of hours of trading stories about the difficult road we trudged on just to get into the arts, she asked me if I would consider being a sessional instructor for their visual arts program. “I’ve seen your works and I’m impressed. You have the experience and the personality for showing, not just telling, unique artistry and vision,” she said. “Maybe you can teach our would-be artists here.”

I think about her offer as I drive back to Lyra’s. I haven’t even told Delphine what I planned on doing – relocating to where she is - partly because I’m hoping to surprise her, but also because I’m afraid that she might think that things are moving too fast. I pushed aside these thoughts as I see the building from a short distance.

“I thought I’m driving?” a business-like Lyra said as she opens the passenger-side door when I pulled into the main driveway.

“Yeah, we just need to make one stop,” I said looking at the road map, “then I’m handing you the keys.”

She gets in and we drive off. “Okay, just make a right here,” she gestures, “and we’d be in the highway in no time.” I took a left instead. “You’re going the wrong way, Cosima,” a slightly-miffed Lyra exclaimed as we drive towards Cambie Bridge. I see Lyra looking all around her with a squint. “Where are we going?”

“We’re just going to pick someone up,” I answered.

“Pick someone up from where?” Lyra’s patience seems to be running thin.

“I’m going to ask you for directions if we get lost, okay?” I assured her. “Trust me. Just relax for now – you have a long drive ahead of you.” And roughly 20 minutes of silence later, as Lyra sees the Arthur Laing Bridge through the windshield, she finally figured out where we’re headed. “Who’s at the airport?” She asked.

“You’ll see,” as I make a right towards international arrivals.

She sat slack-jawed with surprise as she caught sight of who we’re picking up from the airport: a grinning Gabi, wearing a thick green parka and carrying a blue duffel bag.

“Hi there,” Gabi said after running towards the car, still with that megawatt-grin as she looks at Lyra.

I take a minute to see the interaction between these two girls and to check if my plan to get Gabi here for Lyra worked. Judging from the surprised smile on her face and the way she pulled Gabi in for hug, I think it did. I don’t really know what I plan to accomplish when I reach out to Krystal for help in getting Gabi to go to Vancouver, but if nothing else at least Lyra will have a friend she can talk to about me and Delphine, and about the other things in her life.

I grabbed Gabi’s bag and put it in the truck’s bed while she reciprocates Lyra’s embrace. “She’s all yours now,” handing in the keys to Lyra when they finally separated. I open the passenger side door and motioned for Gabi to slide in first so they can be next to each other in the drive home. 

\-----

I have to admit that Cosima gets brownie points for finding a way to get Gabi alone to Vancouver. I was so happy when I saw her standing in the terminal, only for my smile to fade away at the thought that Ferdinand might be with her. When no one else showed up behind her as she walked towards the truck, I can’t help but hug her.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as I drive towards the highway while Gabi and Cosima exchange pleasantries.

“Mom called,” and she reaches out to hold my hand, “she said that you might be in need of a friend. So here I am.” And she said it as if she has nothing important to do over the holidays – as if I’m her number one priority. Just then, Cosima asked if we can pull over so she can use the toilet. I saw a Super Save Gas station and parked by the convenience store.

“Do you girls want anything?” She asked as she points to the store. We shook our heads and Cosima walked away from the truck.

With only the two of us inside the car, Gabi doesn’t move away - choosing to stay close even if there is now ample space to her right. “But Ferdinand...” I said, feigning concern and taking the chance to ask her about it while Cosima is not around to observe, “Weren’t you suppose to be with him and his family for Thanksgiving?” 

“I’ll see him in December,” she said while rubbing her thumb on the top of my hand, “I’ll take a longer break and make it up to him, I guess. For now, you apparently need me and I want to be there for you.”

I smile, finding it difficult to be peeved by Cosima’s ploy. If nothing else, at least I get Gabi for the next few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for posting another long, chatty chapter that is needed to get the ball rolling. Please also consider this as my advanced apology - I would be away next week and might not be able to update. 
> 
> Thank you again for the interest, kind words, and kudos. Please let me know what you think of this one. :)


	11. Thanksgiving Part 2, 1983: What the Future Holds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shifts from the Thanksgiving dinner to events before and after it.

I can tell that the Thanksgiving feast I planned and prepared is a resounding culinary success by the way Krystal is eating her turkey. She’s eating this meal as if she tossed her healthy diet for the time being - not bothering to remove the skin off the bird unlike last month, choosing instead to liberally add a dollop of cranberry sauce on her plate. “This is so, so good,” she said between mouthfuls of turkey and green bean casserole. I give her a nod and a smile, gently motioning with my table knife that she could get some more if she likes.

As I take a bite of my food, I remember how I wanted everything to be perfect for this dinner, obsessing about what to prepare weeks prior and making sure to properly time the prep work and cooking to be done. This is after all is Cosima’s first Thanksgiving with us at the ranch, and I want it to be memorable. She seems to be enjoying the meal as she helps herself with more turkey and another serving of casserole and glazed carrots while talking to Scott. I then turn towards my Lyra who is beaming and essentially melting at the sight of Gabi sitting beside her and playfully spoon-feeding her 4-year-old nephew, Arthur, with soup as he sits on her lap. When the toddler spat out some of the squash, his mom Gracie immediately grabs a small towel to clean not only her eldest’s face, but also the small mess that her youngest son, 2-year-old Jessie, made in his high chair. Mark, sitting across Gracie, hands a clean napkin to his wife with a smile.

With the kids settling back to the meal, Lyra catches me looking at her as she watched the scene unfold, giving me a shy grin before eating a forkful of stuffing. While conversations between me and her remain somewhat reserved, if a bit measured, I feel that the easiness between us is slowly coming back. Yesterday, I couldn’t help but embrace her as tight as I can when she and Gabi surprisingly came home with Cosima. And over supper last night, she began talking about school and work in a more detailed, animated fashion. Whether her good mood is for my benefit or for Gabi’s, I wouldn’t know, but I’ll take what I can get. The important thing is she’s not avoiding me anymore and she is talking to me again.

“Maman,” Lyra said as she takes a piece of cornbread, “thank you for the wonderful meal. I’m happy to be home,” rubbing my arm to stress her point. “Thank you for being here,” I replied. I was about to say “I love you, ma poulette,” when Scott rose from his seat and spoke.

“As per our tradition,” he said while pushing his glasses back up by his nose, “I gave the Canadian Thanksgiving speech last month and now Delphine has to say a few words for the American Thanksgiving. But before that,” he said as I was already halfway up from my seat, “I’d like to thank her for cooking this delicious meal - you have truly outdone yourself this time.”

“Hear, hear,” Cosima exclaimed with a toothy smile as she pounds the base of her fork on the table, warming my heart with her simple gesture.

“Well,” I said as I stand and reach out for my glass of merlot. “This year is almost over and although we have had our share of problems and issues, there is so much more to be thankful for. And first in that list is this,” I said, waving my palm around the dinner table, “this amazing gift of friendship between all of us.” I look at Krystal who has both hands on her lips and I can’t help but feel lucky to have her in my life. “Thank you for the gift of friendship, for friends who have become our family. I will never stop giving thanks for that,” tipping my glass to Krystal – the closest thing I have to a sister.

\-----

“It’s tradition,” Krystal told me while handing Gabi a bowlful of corn chowder. “We celebrate two Thanksgivings – the Canadian one last month, and the American one tomorrow,” she said when I asked why there are two Thanksgivings in this ranch. “Ever since Del and Scotty became friends, our families always celebrate both together - with the American family giving the toast during the Canadian Thanksgiving, and the Canadian family speaking during the American Thanksgiving.”

“And that’s something I will always be thankful for,” Gabi said with a grin before eating a spoonful of soup. “If it weren’t for Delphine, I would never have known what a Thanksgiving turkey is supposed to taste like.”

“Hey, Missy!” Krystal said, obviously feigning offense. “I’ve slaved over Thanksgiving dinners for you for years before the Cormiers sauntered into our lives with their fancy baguettes and navarin d’agneaus!” Delphine can’t contain her giggles at her friend’s bad French.

“Slaved over, yes,” Gabi exclaims, “but taste is a different topic altogether.”

“Why, I never!” Krystal said, making sure to turn on the theatrics upon hearing her daughter’s words. “You wound me with your words, dear daughter!” But she can’t help but break character, stifling a laugh as she clutches her chest. And the rest of us – Delphine, Lyra, and me – can’t help but laugh at the exchange between mother and daughter.

“But Scott is Canadian...” I mused, still laughing as I take a piece of bread and dip it in my chowder. Krystal shrugs with a smile, “yeah, but he’s outnumbered 3 to 1, so he really has no choice but to be American during Thanksgivings. By the way, Del, this is so delicious,” she exclaimed, “is this a preview of tomorrow’s feast?”

“No,” Delphine answered after chewing her sandwich. “Tomorrow is much more special,” she said with a wink as she looks at Lyra and then me.

Tonight’s delicious food and light conversation were just an added bonus to the real treat of seeing how happy Delphine is that Lyra is home. She was in the kitchen with Krystal when we got back from the city, and when she saw her daughter with me, she quickly ran to hug her. For a minute, I was worried that Lyra wouldn’t return her mom’s embrace, but those worries were soon put to bed when she hugs her mother back tightly. They didn’t let each other go for a while - making it clear to me that although they don’t have the playful & cheeky relationship that Gabi and Krystal share, what they have may be quieter but equally as strong and full of love. “I’m sorry for being distant, Maman,” I hear Lyra say.

“No, ma poulette, you don’t have to apologize for anything,” Delphine answered with tears in her eyes. “You had every right to react that way. I’m the one who’s sorry for not telling you the truth.”

The words Lyra uttered next took me by surprise. “I understand better now, Maman, I really do,” as she wipes her mother’s tears with her palms. “The brown-haired girl,” she said taking a glance at me before looking at her Mom again, “and the girl with the yellow hair, they’re written in the stars.” Delphine reluctantly lets go, mouth agape at what her daughter just said. She regards her with a look of pure love and gives her a kiss on both cheeks before leading her to the dining table. 

After supper, Lyra asked permission from Delphine to sleepover at Krystal and Gabi’s. Delphine says yes before adding, “But I expect you to be here early to help for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner.” Lyra, with a subtle smile, nods and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be here Maman. Bright and early.”

“I can help cook,” Krystal raises her hand to volunteer as we walk them out.

“Sure you can, Mom,” Gabi snorted. “You can help under-season everything.”

“You know it’s a good thing you’re funny, smart, and beautiful,” Krystal retorted before playfully pinching her daughter at the waist, “or I wouldn’t have hesitated disowning you years ago.”

As Gabi, Krystal, and Lyra drive off, we stood on the porch to see them off. And as Lyra enters Krystal’s truck, Delphine reaches out to hold my hand - her grip tightening as Lyra gives us one last look and a smile, the kind that seems to want to convey that she’s okay with our relationship, before leaving for the night.

“Thank you,” Delphine whispers in my ear as Krystal turns on the engine. “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you for bringing her home.” I lean on her shoulder, relishing at the thought that I’m able to give her the happiness and comfort she so thoroughly deserves.

\-----

“Aww, Del,” Krystal cooed. “I’m so, so thankful for you guys too,” and she walks towards me to give me a hug. I wait for her to get back on her seat before continuing my toast.

“I am also thankful for the gift of work and productivity,” and this time, I made sure to look not only to Scott but also to Mark. “Mark, thank you for choosing to commit to the ranch,” and he looks down but smiles. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision for you to do that so I also want to thank Gracie for supporting you and your choices. And I think I can speak for everyone here that we’re very happy with the way you’re beginning to take point and run things on your own.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Mark said shyly. “Thank you for teaching me what to do, Dad, Delphine.”

“You are doing so well, son,” Scott remarked and tipped his bottle of beer towards his son. “Keep it up.” And it's true. The week before, Mark - all on his own - was able to secure another channel for our cattle – a specialty meat company that supplies beef to hotels and restaurants in Whistler and Vancouver.

I then turn my attention to my ranch partner. “And to Scott, thank you for working towards bringing my vision into a reality. The idea for the ranch would have remained just that, a high-minded idea, if not for you.”

\----

It may have been ages since I last did farm work, but if there’s one constant thing I know about ranch life it’s this – the ranch never sleeps. It doesn’t give a damn if it’s a holiday, if you’re on vacation, or if you’re sick or nursing a hangover. The ranch demands everything you have – all your strength, all your wits - all the time. And with Delphine busy with Thanksgiving preparations today, the least I can do is help out in the ranch since I’m no use in the kitchen.

“You sure, chérie?” She asked after I told her I’ll do the ranch chores for today while she preps the stuffing for what looks like a 15-pound turkey.

“You seem to have forgotten how we met,” I said, taking the opportunity to hug her from behind while we’re still alone in the kitchen.

“I know you’re very capable,” she said with what seems like an amused tone, “but it’s been a while since you did any of these,” and as if realizing that Lyra and Gracie are not yet here to help her out, she turns to face me. “I wouldn’t want to tire you out,” she flirts before leaning in for a kiss.

“I think you know from personal experience,” I said as I hold both her hands in mine, “that it’ll take more than ranch chores to tire me out.”

I was going for a passionate kiss but just then, the front door opens, and I settled for giving her hands a tight squeeze before letting her go. Last night in bed, we talked about how to act around Lyra – making sure that we keep it PG around her as she continues to accept me in her mom’s life. I didn’t mind one bit. I understand that this is a lot for her to take in and the least I can do at this juncture is give her all the time she needs to deal with our relationship.

“Okay,” Delphine said, turning her attention back to the stuffing. “Go out and look for Mark or Scott. Tell them you’ll help. Around this time, Mark is probably in one of the sheds. And Scott is in the clinic.” I gave Lyra and Gracie a friendly wave before making my way to the clinic. Sure enough, Scott is there doing what looks like inventory.

“Hey,” I said after knocking, “I told Delphine I’m gonna help out today while she cooks...So where do you need me?”

“Hey Cosima,” Scott said with a nervous laugh, “sure, ah,” he stammered, “why don’t you help me with organizing the charts and files by date,” pointing to the stacks of papers on a desk. “Gabi was supposed to do that today, but she’s still sleeping.”

“Sure thing, Scott,” and I walk towards the table and pull out a metal stool. The task is rudimentary but amusing mainly because I get to see Delphine’s handwriting. On a cow named Daisy that Delphine examined last August, she wrote: _‘C/S/V/D: None; BAR as of 3:10 p.m.’_; on a horse named Phenomenal who went in for an exam last June, she jotted down:_ ‘DDx: Parasites, bacterial infection, dietary indiscretion. Run fecal test, X-ray, blood panel.’_

“Having fun?” Scott asked from across the clinic. I must have looked too happy about reading Delphine’s notes. “Yeah,” I answered as I continue organizing the clinic’s records. “You guys are doing so well here.”

“It’s all Delphine,” Scott said without hesitation and with a hint of pride, “I’m just along for the ride.”

Scott strikes me as a good, humble guy – perhaps too humble for his own good. “I find that hard to believe,” I said, looking at him while he checks the clinic’s equipment. “I’m sure she’ll roll her eyes at what you just said.” He laughs, “perhaps, perhaps,” Scott concedes. “But it’s true, this is all her idea. Back in Montana, she would always suggest advocating for all-natural farming methods to improve food traceability during our department meetings. They were wrong not to take her seriously.”

Over the past few weeks, Delphine had filled me in about her life after leaving Buffalo – how she got a job at the Montana Department of Livestock; how she was the only woman in her division; and that it was only Scott who wholeheartedly valued her insights and offered her friendship. I may not know him very well yet, but there are two things I know for certain from what I know about him so far: the world could certainly use more good guys like Scott Smith; and Krystal is one lucky lady for having such a kind, smart man as her partner.

“So it wasn’t a surprise to me,” Scott continued to talk, “that she wanted to try home-grown, all-natural farming methods when she started her own ranch. It may look simple, but it’s quite revolutionary – the way of the future,” and I couldn’t help but agree with him. In one of our late night phone calls before I got here, I asked Delphine to talk about her ranch and what it does. She said they’re different from the usual cattle ranches - opting to keep the calves for another year and raise them to maturity while sticking to all-natural methods as much as possible, instead of the common practice of shipping calves to the auctions and then on to feedlots.

“And changing the calving time so that new calves would be born in the fall instead of the spring, is that her idea as well?” I asked Scott as he wipes a bead of sweat on his forehead.

“Okay, that’s my idea,” he answered with a grin. “But everything else is hers – finishing mature animals on our own home-grown products; marketing the beef directly; buying lean cows from...” and Scott trails off, suddenly becoming aware that I may not know about Delphine’s trips to Wyoming.

“From Buffalo?” I said, finishing this last thought for him.

“You know about that?” Scott asked - his attention no longer completely on his tasks at hand.

“Yeah, my sister who lives there saw her last year,” I answered. “Don’t worry, I’ve already told her about it.”

Scott nods and gets back to what he’s doing. A few silent minutes later, he approaches the table to add more papers for organizing to the pile. “You know,” he said before going back to the supply cabinet at the other end of the clinic, “it was my idea for Delphine to go with Krystal to San Francisco.”

I look at him, wide-eyed with what I could only imagine to be a stupid grin on my face. “Well, in that case, I have you to thank...for everything that’s going right in my life now,” and I offer my hand for him to shake.

“You’re welcome, Cosima,” he said with a smile and a firm handshake. 

\-----

“Thank you, Delphine,” Scott said, “but really, I’m just along for the ride.” I let out an exasperated breath. After all these years, Scott still doesn’t handle compliments well. “That’s not true,” I sternly said, “all these wouldn’t work if you weren’t here to tell me if my ideas are good or unrealistic.”

“Listen to your work wife, Sweetie,” Krystal chimes in and her comment was meant with six sets of furrowed brows. “Oh shoot,” she then said to Gabi, “did I use it right, Hon?”

“Yes, Mom,” Gabi said, adding more confusion to Krystal’s quirky comment. “What Mom meant,” Gabi explained, “is that Dad and Delphine are work wife and husband – you know, the one you work best with, the one you trust the most and always has your back at work.”

“So that would make me,” Mark joins the conversation, “Delphine’s work son?”

“Yes!” Gabi exclaimed. “Like how Lyra is my wife, err, my work wife...Work being school and my studies, you know,” she rambled.

At what Gabi said, I couldn’t help but look at my daughter as I see a glimmer of a blush forming on her cheeks. Gabi seemed to have noticed it as well and they exchange shy, unsure smiles. “Maman has more to say,” Lyra said, hoping to shift the conversation away from Gabi’s work wife comment.

“Yes, I still have some words left,” I said as I sit and take a sip of my wine. “I’m also thankful for the gift of second chances – for the capacity of the human heart to move on, forgive, and take chances,” I said, glancing at Gabi then at Lyra. “Ma poulette,” I said holding Lyra’s hand on the table, “I will always try to give you all the love I have in my heart,” and she smiles at that. “I want you to know how very proud I am of how you work to achieve your dreams. Everything about you makes me feel proud to have you as my daughter.”

Gabi looks at Lyra and proceeded to soothingly rub her back with her left palm. “And Gabi, thank you for making her life better. For helping her carry her burdens, for lightening the load so she can trudge on forward.”

\-----

A knock on the clinic’s door caught our attention while we work. “Come in,” Scott said as he tries to balance a set of trays with tools. “Sorry Pops, I overslept,” an apologetic Gabi said as she enters the clinic. “It’s okay, Sport,” Scott replied as he takes the papers I just organized and put them in a file cabinet. “Cosima was kind enough to help me out with the files so you can go on to the sheds and help Mark clean.”

“Aaarghh,” Gabi groans, “I signed up for paperwork, not cow-pie duty,” she added. “I know we shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night.”

“I can help you out,” I volunteered, “I’m almost done here I think, right?” And Scott nods, gesturing that we could go and do the chore together. The cow sheds at Delphine’s ranch is 10 minutes away by car from the clinic. On the way there, I asked Gabi why she’s not helping out in the preparation for tonight’s meal. “Unlike Mom,” she smirks as she answers, “I have no delusions of cooking prowess, so here I am helping out.”

Mark was just coming out of Shed 2 when we arrived and he was quite happy to have extra sets of hands for today. “Andy and Wayne went home for the holidays yesterday so your timing couldn’t be more perfect,” he said, making me remember that the ranch's most-trusted workers are Americans hailing from Everson and Peaceful Valley, Washington, respectively. Mark hands us a rake and a shovel before instructing us to take care of Shed 3 as he proceeds to Shed 4. “Take point from Gabi,” he said to me with a polite smile. 

It may have been a while, but the work of cleaning pens and feeding the cows still felt natural to me. It didn’t take long before we fell on a quick and productive pattern, and before we knew it, we were almost done. “I think we deserve a break,” Gabi said and I couldn’t help but nod my head in agreement. 

We take a seat in the middle of the almost-clean shed as Gabi drinks from a water canteen before offering me a swig. “I have a stash of weed at home,” she tells me with glee while I take a sip of water, “just say the word and it’s all yours.”

“I might take you up on that offer,” I said. “I think I’d be here for a while.”

Gabi reacts nonchalantly at what I just said – not surprised that I plan to plant roots where Delphine is. She has known about us by the time we had our third lunch together in a small Berkeley bistro. That day, Gabi just asked about me and Delphine over appetizers, and I found no reason to deny our relationship. “I thought so,” I remember Gabi saying, “I’d like to think I sensed it when we were in Pescadero, but Mom can’t stop being excited about you– she was practically yelling last night when I told her over the phone we’re meeting today.”

“You’d fit right in here,” and she puts an arm around my shoulder as if we’re old friends. “And I’m happy things worked out between you and Delphine.”

Unlike Lyra who can keep people she’s just beginning to know at arm’s length, Gabi is more open and more gregarious. We’ve had several lunches and coffees together in the short 3 weeks since we first met, and the conversations have always been easy and engaging. I’ve been meaning to ask about her and Lyra, and now maybe a good time to do just that.

“I’ve been meaning to ask and I hope you don’t mind,” I started. Gabi then removes her arm from my shoulder and proceeds to hug her knees close to her chest. “I know,” she said. “And I wanted to tell you – anyone really – so just ask.”

“What’s with you and Lyra?” I asked, my words filling the air in the shed.

“I don’t really know,” she answered with a sarcastic laugh before letting out a breath. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids...I fell in love with her when I was 14. We were kissing almost every waking moment since the age of 15 up until prom night...when I told her I love her. But she didn’t want me. She said she’d like for us to remain best friends, and I think that’s what we are – that’s the answer to your question. It was hard to give her what she wanted because...God I wish had that stash right about now,” she rambled.

“Is that why you went to Berkeley instead of UBC? And it’s a good thing we don’t have a joint between us – I wouldn’t want to burn down the shed or get the cows high,” I said trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s okay if they get high,” pointing to a heifer near where we are seated. “It’s totally organic, all-natural,” she said with a forced grin in an attempt to humor me. “When she said we should stop and just be best friends, I knew I had to move – not even forward, or away, or anything...Just move.”

“I can relate,” because I really can – that’s what I did to Delphine many years ago in the Wyoming highlands. “And now?” I asked her.

Gabi whimpered and put her hands over her face in frustration and hurt. “Now,” she said – her voice breaking - “now I’ve moved away enough to be with Ferdinand.”

I didn’t dare ask if she’s still in love with Lyra at the mention of her fiancé’s name. With all of Gabi’s stories about her and Lyra, it’s easy to forget that she’s engaged to be married. Still, it’s hard not to react to what she’s saying so I proceeded with caution and said, “I think there’s love there - between you too, you know, it’s not one-sided.”

Gabi stands up and proceeds to clean one of the nearby pens that we haven’t touched yet. “Yeah, I thought so too,” she muttered, “it’s all in the past now though...” and she shoveled manure out of the pen. Taking the hint, I stood up and picked a rake to tend to a pen that needs cleaning.

”Just to be clear,” I said, “when I said there’s love between you two, I meant there IS love,” making sure to emphasize on the present tense. “When I said it’s not one-sided, I meant it IS not one-sided.” From where I’m standing, I can see Gabi giving a halfhearted nod and maybe I’m imagining things, but a few minutes later, she seems to be wiping tears on her cheeks when she thought I wasn’t looking her way.

“I’ll bring the stash over tomorrow before I leave for Boston,” she then said before going to another pen to keep herself busy.

\----

“At my age,” I continued my speech, “I never thought that I myself would be given another gift of a second chance,” and I can’t help but look Cosima’s way. Her eyes are softly looking at me, filled with warmth and affection, and it’s all too much but not enough all at the same time.

“I’m so lucky,” I said focusing my gaze only on her, “that I can say that this year, I’m thankful for the gift of love. That amidst everything that can wear us down, love manages to thrive – despite distance and long separations.”

“To love,” Krystal said, raising her wine glass and tipping it to Cosima and I. Everybody – even Lyra - lifts their glasses and said, “Here’s to love.” I look to my daughter, asking for her permission for me to kiss Cosima. I think she knew what I was asking from her and she nods. “It’s okay, Maman,” she said with a reserved smile, “I won’t be in the way.”

I put my hand over Cosima’s as we lean closer. While I wanted nothing more but to kiss her on the lips, I settled for a lingering kiss on her cheek instead. “I love you,” I whispered to her ear, “I’m thankful for you – for coming back to my life.”

“I love you too,” she said, “this is the best Thanksgiving ever.” For a while, it felt like it was the just the two of us in the house, but we were reminded that we have company when Jesse cried.

“Well, Sweetie,” Krystal said to Scott while she walks over to where the crying baby is sitting – volunteering to change his nappies so his mom can eat – “I think Del’s speech just kicked your last Thanksgiving speech in the ass.”

Scott nods and smiles, “yeah, it sure looks like it,” as he gets another serving of turkey. He turns his attention to Gabi and Lyra who, like him, proceeded to continue eating their food. “When are you gals coming back to the city?”

“Tomorrow,” Gabi said, “but I think Lyra is staying over for the weekend, right Ly?” And Lyra nods which made me happy because I will have her for the entire weekend. “Which is why I’m sleeping over here tonight,” Gabi added, “we have so much to catch up on.”

\-----

Delphine respectfully refused Gracie and Krystal’s offer to help with the clean-up after dinner. “You’ve already helped enough,” she told them, “I’m sure you’re tired and besides, Cosima is here to help me clean.” She then handed them separate to-go containers containing turkey, casserole, squash soup, and slices of pumpkin pies, before giving them a hug and sending them off. Pretty soon, it was just us, Gabi, and Lyra inside the house and while Delphine stored the leftovers in the fridge, Lyra proceeded to wear an apron in preparation for washing the dishes.

Delphine stopped her though. “Go on you two,” she said, “you only have a few hours left – go catch up.”

“Are you sure, Maman?” Lyra asked. “We can hang out after helping you clean.” But Delphine waves them off. “Go rest, ma poulette,” and she gives her a kiss on the forehead. Lyra then unties the apron and hands it to me, touching my shoulder and giving me a smile before going up the stairs with Gabi, who waved at us before following Lyra upstairs.

Delphine motions for me to wear the apron as she takes the dirty dishes from the dining table. I went towards the sink and began washing the pots and pans used to prepare tonight’s feast. She places the plates, glasses, and utensils on the counter and proceeded to wash them on the second sink. As we bask in the quiet domesticity of washing dishes, I smile - remembering how I’ve wished for this – for a quiet, ordinary life with the woman I love - on her birthday when I drew the latest dandelion and on that day before we went to Pescadero, when she washed a plate and mug in my studio shortly after we reunited.

“With everything that happened, all the preparations for tonight,” she said as she scrubs a plate smudged with cranberry sauce, “I forgot to ask how your meetings in the city yesterday went.”

I gathered my thoughts, preparing myself to tell Delphine what I plan to do. “They went well,” I answered. “I think I’m getting a new agent, and a gallery offered to display my works for half the price. And you know what’s weird,” I nervously added – not imagining that I’m going to ask Delphine if we can move in together over piles of dirty dishes, “I got an offer to teach art at UBC. It’s nothing big,” I said, talking with my hands and scattering suds on the counter in the process, “just a handful of classes a month.”

Delphine drops the plate she’s washing and wipes her hands on her apron as she looks at me. “What are you trying to tell me, chérie?” I continued while washing the dishes, too nervous that she would say that things are moving too fast at what I’m about to tell her. “I’m saying that I plan to permanently relocate to Canada,” I run a soaped pan over the water, making sure it’s squeaky-clean & soap-less. “To Vancouver,” I added, “here...with you,” I manage to say without stammering. “That is if you’ll have me...”

Just then, Delphine hurriedly gets back to washing the dishes on her side of the sink. As she does that, I can’t help but think that the worst has happened – _'I know she loves me but things are moving too fast for her. I know she loves me but she can’t commit to something as major as sharing a life under one roof. I know she loves me...'_

“Come with me,” she then said after finishing the dish-washing in record time, interrupting my inner monologue in the process. When she noticed that I have a couple of chopping boards left to wash, she got them from my side of the sink in haste to soap and rinse them. She then washes her hands, dries it on her apron before taking it off. She grabs my hand and leads us to the closet where she grabbed her coat and signaled for me to wear the coat I’ve been wearing while I’m here in the ranch. With my hand still locked in hers, we got out of the house through a backdoor. We walk closely together for minutes until we reach a small cabin. Delphine then looks at me, as if telling me to stay put, as she goes to the side of the cabin to turn on the electrical switch. She came back and fishes for a key inside her coat to open the door and lead me inside.

She turns on the lights and I take in the sight before me. The small cabin where Delphine took me is almost bare, except for a wooden chair that may have been used to install the bright new light bulbs whose boxes are still on the hardwood floors. It has a small freestanding wood stove and provisions for a kitchenette. Walking towards the inside of the cabin, I can see a sliding door that leads to a small toilet and bath. A narrow flight of stairs on the side of the room leads to a loft. 

The place is conducive for natural light, thanks to the several small windows near the door and around the loft. It's nice in here, making me forget that I don't have an idea as to why we're here. “I didn’t just hang your painting while you were in the city,” she then said while kneeling by the wood stove to light it up and keep us warm inside. “I asked Wayne to help me clean this cabin, get it up and running...for you. This used to be a small guest house for when some of our relatives stayed over. Now I think it could be a studio where you can paint.” And just like that, all the things that ran through my mind about Delphine rejecting me have been washed away.

With a fire now roaring, she stood up to go where I am and cup my face. “Back at the house, you told me that you’ll move here if I’ll have you,” she said, “I was busy preparing this cabin because I was going to ask you to stay. And if you said you can’t because your life is in San Francisco, then I would have said that you can stay here for 3 or 6 months. Then we can go to San Francisco where I will stay with you for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll do anything to make us work.”

I couldn’t stop the happy tears from trickling down my eyes. “I don’t need to be in San Francisco,” I said as I tighten my grip on her hips. “I just need to be with you...wherever you are. I just want to be near you, Delphine, I love you so much.”

“Cosima,” she said before coming in for a kiss, “will you move in with me?”

“Yes,” and to seal the deal, I lean in for a passionate kiss – the one I wanted to give her this morning before I went out to help in the ranch. 

The warmth emanating from the wood stove and the privacy of the small cabin (that would be my studio here in the ranch), provided the perfect ambiance for us to let our passion and want for each other take over. I push her coat off of her after a few breathless kisses as I take mine off and let it drop on the floor. We refuse to stop kissing as Delphine unbuttons my plaid shirt while I unzip her slacks. We were almost bare sans underwear when we realized that we might have a slight problem moving forward – there is no bed, and judging by the dust in my bare feet, making love on the floor wouldn’t be comfortable. “Chair,” Delphine said in a breathy voice as she unhooks her bra and takes off her panties. I push her towards the chair, making sure to lean it against the wall so we wouldn't topple over.

Delphine takes a seat and looks at me with all the love and lust I remembered sharing with her 26 years ago – the same feelings that we never really forgot, that I felt that day in my studio, and every day since. I give her a deep kiss as I fondled her breasts before standing before her to take off my undergarments. I lavish her creamy, lavender-scented neck with kisses, and suck on a nipple before kneeling in front of her, and as if on cue, she removes my glasses and spreads her legs to give me a glimpse of what I want.

She hisses and moans when my lips and tongue made contact with her wet core, sliding on the chair to press my mouth closer to her as she tugs the back of my head and pulled on my hair. “I love you so much, Delphine,” I said in between my ministrations. “I love you so much too, chérie,” she said as the hand pulling on my hair is now caressing my cheek. I pull her towards me and she spreads her legs wider, making room so that my fingers can join the fray. “Aahhh,” she whimpers as I push one finger, then two, inside of her. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” And I didn’t, as I try to curve my fingers plunged deep inside her to give her all the pleasure she deserves. “Come for me, baby,” I said before flicking her bud with my tongue and sucking it gently. And she did, leaning on the chair after while I continue licking the fruits of our passions.

It wasn’t long until Delphine recovers and pulls me up from my knees to sit on her lap. Suddenly towering over my taller girlfriend, I find myself enjoying the simple act of looking down to kiss her. She lets out a moan as she tastes herself on my tongue and lips, before leaving a trail of kisses on my jaw, my neck, and my breasts. I wrap my arm around her neck and she holds me with her left arm as her skilled fingers travel south seeking delicious heat. I didn’t even need to thrust my body for her to start suckling on my nipples while her fingers began delicately drawing patterns on my clit. She re-positioned a little for her fingers to dip deeper into the mouth of my arousal, and while it isn’t as deep as I would have wanted, I’m already so worked up and wet from earlier - when she gasped and said my name with every move of my tongue on her. 

I close my eyes while riding her skilled fingers, making sure that I moan right at her ear so that she knows how much I’m enjoying this. “Mon amour,” she then said, trying to get my attention, “open your eyes and look at me,” she instructed. “I want to see you come for me.” That was all it took for me to let go and shiver on her lap as I hold on to her tighter. 

With a silly and satisfied smile on my face, I kiss her collarbone and lean my forehead against her shoulder when I came undone. Our breathing quickly replaced the moans that echoed throughout the cabin just a few minutes ago, and while I come down from my high, I can’t help but think that is just the first of many art studio trysts that we will share from here on in. “I told you,” I said before giving her a kiss on her cheek, “that it’ll take more than ranch chores to wipe me out.” She lets out a tired laugh, “sorry,” she said, “I have forgotten how vigorous & energetic you are,” as she touches my face and pulls me in for a kiss.

“Je t'aime,” I told her, testing the foreign words that made my heart flutter every time she uttered them to me.

“I love you too,” and Delphine wraps me in her arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nice to be back! Please consider the small portion of smut in this chapter as my way of apologizing for not updating this story in a while. Also, is anyone here checking out the OB audiobook (Orphan Black: The Next Chapter)? It's really good and I'm hooked! :) Do let me know what you think of this one and see you all in the next chapter.


	12. December 21, 1983: Dandelion Wishes

The past month went by like a blur given everything that’s needed to be done in my transition from being a San Francisco resident to living in Pemberton. After getting settled in Delphine’s ranch, I immediately got in touch with Professor Gault to accept her teaching offer, and now here I am in my new office inside the campus. The space they gave me is nothing glamorous – it’s essentially a standard cubbyhole at the far end of the building; pretty garden-variety except for a long rectangular window near what could be a coffee nook, providing the room with a semblance of natural light.

While sessional instructors usually do not get their own office, the Department made an exception for me because I said yes to accepting apprentices. “Good luck,” scoffed one instructor who I met a few days ago in the small Christmas faculty get-together, “it’s a pain to work with apprentices. They think they’re God’s gift to the Art World. Why do you think nobody signs up for it?” I took the comments in stride, more bothered by the fact that Delphine was not with me during the party - but I understand that she couldn’t come given how busy they are in the ranch now. Just last night, she and Scott stayed up almost all night preparing for a last-minute meeting with a potential client. If anything, being here this early to get this office up and running made me feel a bit guilty that I’m not there to help out.

I can’t help but smirk while I arrange my pens and pencils in my desk drawers, amused at the notion that in my many years as an artist, I never really expected to have an office all to my own. A studio: yes, an office: hell no, and after New York - when the sight of my cluttered office desk was the last push I needed to pack my things and go - I never really expected to be back in an office setting. But as what I’ve been finding out this past month, there is beauty in the unexpected. Take for instance yesterday: while I did speak to a handful of the usual, artist-types that the professor at the party warned me about, there were also students who showed up to meet me who I would never expect to have any artistic inclinations. And for some reason, they turned out to be the more interesting bunch.

But the unexpected also comes with uncertainties. The opportunity to teach is great and all - I just wish I can say the same about my paintings. The reality is that most of my sales are still coming from San Francisco art galleries, and I’ve only sold a single painting here in Vancouver after slashing 25% off the price just to get the sale. While that’s a bit troubling for any artist, I remind myself in nights when it bothers me that I’ve been in this situation before – that I’m no stranger to starting fresh. So for now, I’m not really in a rush to make it big in the Vancouver art scene - if it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t, then I would just have to find a way to be okay with it, though I can imagine that there would be anger and frustration involved in dealing with that disappointment. Anyway, things are looking up. My new agent unexpectedly called yesterday to tell me that there’s an offer for me to do commissioned work for a popular Whistler hotel that’s looking at getting new paintings to redecorate their suites and lobbies.

But even with that and the teaching gig, the uncertainties continue to linger. I really just don’t want to fail in front of Delphine. I am more worried about that than how my paintings are selling in Vancouver.

I take a seat on the ordinary chair supplied to me by the University, and the discomfort on my lower back is making me look forward to Delphine’s promise of going furniture shopping together before winter session classes start in January. With everything already organized, I’m left with nothing to do but open my first official mail as a faculty member – a signed, approved copy of the classes I would be teaching in the upcoming term. Apart from taking on an apprentice, I would be teaching a 200 level course on Painting, a 300 level course on Intermediate Drawing, and an Advance Open Studio class for senior Visual Art students that Professor Gault used to handle. It’s daunting – given the pedigree of my co-lecturers; but it’s also exciting that I’m deemed experienced and good enough to teach these kids.

A knock on the door made me look from the class schedule to a nearby wall clock. It’s only a little past 8 in the morning and because I have way more important plans today, I made sure to schedule only two students to meet - with the earliest meeting pencilled at 9 a.m. “Somebody’s eager,” I mumble to myself, before shouting a “Come in, it’s open.”

It was a student who showed up at my door alright, but she’s neither an art student nor an aspiring apprentice.

“Hi,” Lyra meekly greeted as she closes the door and moves towards the desk to hand me a cup of hot beverage. “It’s Chai,” she pointed to the to-go cup that she puts on my desk. “I remember you asking for it when Maman asked you what you prefer drinking in the morning,” before proceeding to take a seat.

“Are you busy? Can we talk?” And just like her Maman, she bites her lower lip when she’s anxious, nervous, knows she’s in trouble, or all of the above.

I took the cup of tea and sipped. “Sure.”

\-----

“What was the situation before when you operated like a usual cattle ranch?” The well-dressed woman named Nancy Robinson asked.

“Well before shifting to all-organic methods,” I said taking a sip of coffee in between, “we were selling about 40 calves a year. 50 on a good year...”

“And we were stuck in a seasonal operation,” Scott added as he begins offering our guests with coffee which they refused.

“So is that why you changed the way you run things?” Nancy asks me, not Scott. With only a day’s notice, she came in this morning with her team to inspect our ranch as a possible meat supplier for a high-profile client who owns a chain of upscale restaurants in Vancouver and in Toronto.

“That and the fact that if we continue operating that way, we would always be vulnerable to changing market prices,” I said firmly. “I mean, it really only takes one bovine disease to bring down the price of cattle by half. And we don’t want our ranch to be one cattle disease away from bellying up, so we controlled what’s within our power.”

“We decided to go straight to the table,” Scott said in his most authoritative tone, sensing my shift from being a friendly rancher to a serious businesswoman. “Grow it, raise it, finish it ourselves – from calf to market.”

“And that has worked for you?” The woman further inquired as she wrote down notes on a paper inside a leather folder.

“Yes, for over six years now,” Scott said. “We are both experienced large animal veterinarians specializing in farm animals. We know how to keep our herd productive, happy, and healthy so that we can deliver the highest quality of products to our clients.”

“And as you know,” I added confidently, “we come highly recommended – that’s why you’re here.” What Nancy doesn’t know is that two of the head chefs of the restaurants that her boss owns have already tipped us that they recommended the ranch as a supplier.

Nancy looks up from her notes with a wry smile. “Highest quality, yes,” she said - still keeping Scott out of her gaze, “better-priced, not really.”

“Quality comes at a price,” I reasoned with a polite smile, knowing full well that Nancy is either trying to lowball us or get a sizeable fee in exchange for picking the ranch. “If you are working on a budget, we can recommend several cattle farms nearby that operate and price like your usual ranch. But if it’s important to your chefs to know every oat, hay, and grass that a cow consumed before becoming meat, then you need us. We’re 25% more expensive than your usual ranch for a reason – it’s the price to pay for food traceability.”

Nancy, a woman who strikes me as someone who always gets what she wants, closes her folder and smirks at her assistant before extending her hand to me. “We’ll keep in touch, Ms. Cormier.” And after exchanging polite but cold handshakes, they were gone.

“Wow,” Scott mutters while wiping sweat off his nape with his palm, “I didn’t expect Corpo Barbie to show up so early...and in those shoes.” He was talking about the black, open-toe high heels that Nancy wore for today’s meeting. “You should have seen her face when she stepped on some mud,” he added with a chuckle, “you think they’d get us?” He asked, more curious than worried.

“I don’t know,” and I shrug. “We’ll be fine with or without them. Are you finished packing?” I inquired. Krystal and Scott won’t be spending Christmas in the ranch since they would meet up with Gabi for the holidays.

“Yeah, almost done,” he nodded, “we’ll stop by here when we’re ready to go. Thanks again for offering to drop us off in the airport.”

“Not a problem,” I replied, smiling. “And I have my selfish reasons for doing so – I’m planning to visit Cosima while she’s in school.”

“Well,” Scott said as he stood up to leave my house and get back to packing, “we’re glad to be part of your ruse to surprise your girlfriend.”

It’s my turn to chuckle. “I’ll be in Cosima’s studio, just come get me when you’re all set.” And Scott nods and gives a thumbs-up as he makes his way to his truck.

“Oh, Delphine,” he turned to face me with a smile, “Happy birthday.” 

\-----

“We should stop seeing each other like this, Ly,” I said – unsure if I can call her as if we’re the oldest of friends. But she did come to my office in her own accord even if her building is a good 15-minute walk from here, so maybe I can call her Ly. “So what do you want to talk about?” ‘_Please don’t say you’re not okay with me and your mom shacking up..._’ I thought.

Lyra takes a gulp of her coffee and judging only by her eyes and the more prominent circles around them, she seems to be more tired and stressed lately. “I have no one else to talk to about this,” she started, “Gabi said that she told you about us...”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to be calm that Lyra is choosing to talk to me about Gabi, “briefly over Thanksgiving,” I added. “Is there something wrong?”

“Thanksgiving,” she mumbled, “the night when I told Gabi I love her.” A bit shocked about what I just heard, I urge her to continue telling her story on her own terms and pace, while making sure to fight my own urge to pepper her with questions about it.

“I came clean,” she said as she nervously tousles her dark blonde hair, “seeing you and Maman together...the secret has become too much for me to bear, you know. So I told her I love her...That I’m in love with her. That the reason why the relationships that followed after her didn’t work is because I was too scared to admit that she’s already in here,” and she points to her heart. “I asked her if I’m too late – if she can’t love me again. If she would give us another chance...”

“And she didn’t feel the same way?” I asked cautiously.

Lyra lets out a breath. “I kissed her,” her answer was almost a whisper, “and she kissed me back, but she was in tears. I felt them on my face. She asked me why I didn’t tell her...Why just now. And all I can say was I was afraid - I still am, to be honest. She said she’s with Ferdinand for a reason – she loves him. And I have no words to say to that. It was a rejection...”

“But?” I said, sensing that her story is far from over.

“But she stayed the night, even if we stopped talking after. She slept on the floor and I couldn’t face her...too ashamed, hurt. And then hours later, she came up to bed and kissed me and held me till I fell asleep. In the morning, she told me that things are too confusing. She said she needed time. She asked if I can give her time and space to figure things out.”

“And did you?” ‘_Please say you did,_’ I thought to myself, remembering how stupid I was 26 years ago when I gave Delphine an ultimatum instead of listening to her.

“I said ‘okay’. And now I’m in limbo. I don’t know what to do, what to say, who to tell...So when Maman told me that you’ll be here today, I took a chance...”

I quickly pondered on the things Lyra shared, unsure as to how to reply and what to reply to; fully aware that one wrong word is going to make a sizeable fracture in our still-fragile relationship. I caught her searching my eyes and I decide to appeal to a reason that I know to be true. “Lyra, if you’re afraid that your Maman or Krystal or Scott will not accept you for who you are and what you feel, I can assure you now that that’s not going to happen. They love you – your Maman most especially. She loves you unconditionally.”

“I know that,” Lyra said, trying to be strong by forcing a smile instead of crying.

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

Lyra looks around the room, avoiding my eyes. “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Probably the same things you and Maman were afraid of when you first started...”

‘_What other people would say; the responsibility, possibility, and consequences of raising a child together; being discriminated; getting killed for being gay,_’ and as the list went on in my head, I realized what I had to tell Lyra.

“But that’s apples and oranges – what you and Gabi have is different from what me and your Mom have.”

“Is it really different? It’s between two women. Apart from our ages, everything is the same,” Lyra reasoned as I see her hands shaking, the cracks in her seemingly steely exterior beginning to show.

“I wish I can tell you...” I said, standing up from my seat to sit on the chair next to her, “that things are going to be okay – that Gabi will wake up tomorrow and realize that she loves you more and wants to be with you. But she said so herself,” and I tentatively reach out to put my hand on hers, “she’s with Ferdinand for a reason.” And the strong facade that she had going ever since she came in to my office crumbled at my last words. “But the good news is that you guys are different from us,” and I rub my thumb on the back of her hand in an attempt to soothe her. She didn’t yank her hand away - instead she looks up to me & begs for an explanation. “You may not have any other choice now but to wait,” I said, hoping to put my thoughts across properly, “but you two still have time – you can still wait. You can still give her the time she needs to figure things out. Gabi’s engaged, not married after all...”

“And Maman was married...” She managed to say amidst the sobs, “and pregnant with me when you were first together...”

“Yes,” I said, finding no reason to be dishonest. “Would things be different if she weren’t? Maybe...I don’t really know...But what I do know now is that I should have given her what she needed. And at that time, what she needed was somebody to listen, somebody to understand – not somebody to pressure her into altering the course of her life...” And just like that, there were two women shedding tears in my office.

“If Gabi’s asking for time, give her that. It may not go your way in the end, but at least you won’t be living with the guilt of not being able to give her what she needs when she needed it the most...” I said when I’ve regained my composure, still holding her hand - only this time she’s clutching on to my hand as well. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did with your Maman.”

As Lyra and I softly cry, I couldn’t help but be thankful for the chance given to me to right the things I did wrong with Delphine. I could only hope that Lyra gets the same chance I got, but if ever she doesn’t, I know that I would do anything I can to help her get back on her feet. “I know this is not the right time to tell you this,” I said when Lyra lets go of my hand to wipe tears with a handkerchief, “but I think you should tell your Maman.”

“I think she already knows,” Lyra said as she hands me her hanky.

“She does,” I replied frankly as I grab the hanky to wipe my own tears, “she’s just waiting for you to open up to her...But don’t tell her I said that,” and I smile.

There was a soft and polite knock on my door before Lyra can even tell me if she’s going to tell Delphine about her and Gabi. I stood up to open it and was greeted by my 9 a.m. appointment. “Hi, Professor Niehaus? I’m Blanca. I’m here for the apprentice interview. Am I early?”

“No, you’re just in time,” I said as I lead her inside where I see Lyra already gathering her things to leave. “Can you wait for me here?” I ask Blanca who nods as I walk Lyra out.

“Thank you,” Lyra said when we’re no longer within earshot of my office, “for seeing me, talking to me.”

“My door is always open,” I said. “Hey, how about I take you out to an early lunch? I think we can both use a pick-me-up.”

“I’d love that,” she said as we reach the door leading out of the rows of faculty offices. “I’ll come back here around 11?”

“Sounds good,” I said as I watch Lyra walk away and join the other students out in the hall.

\-----

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about living with Cosima, it’s the fact that she works best in an organized chaos. While she does her best to clean up after herself when inside the main house, the same cannot be said about her studio. On the off chance I get to clean the cabin (with her permission of course), I can’t help but marvel at the amount of things – brushes, paint, pencils, pens, sketch pads, and random pieces of paper with notes scrawled on them - scattered all over the loft. I never attempt to organize the loft (which she chose to be her workspace), afraid that I might move something that would disrupt her flow and the way she works, so I usually limit my cleaning in the small kitchen and living space downstairs. This morning though, she left the loft lights on and I had no choice but to go up there to turn them off.

I can see that Cosima has really made this place her own since I handed her the cabin. I recognize the carpet on the loft to be the same one that used to be in her studio in San Francisco. She also made sure to ship her favorite easel so she can use it here, and I can see that she chose the chair we made love on to be part of her work-space as several pieces of art are currently on there.

I gravitate towards the chair, careful not to step on her precious brushes and painting implements. While seeing the chair in the light of day still makes me blush, I focused my attention on the finished works leaning on the backrest. Cosima’s very good and these paintings are living reminders of her greatness, but as I admire one work after another, I noticed that a couple still have tags on them - ‘_Gilbert Contemporary Art, Vancouver_’, the tags said along with its asking price. Cosima may not be saying it, but I know she’s worried about how her works seem to not be selling as well here as they did back in San Francisco. I can’t help but think that these unsold paintings are tactile reminders of the opportunities she gave up just to be here with me.

I turn off the loft lights and head back downstairs, trying to shake off the question I’ve asked myself on nights when I watch her sleeping peacefully beside me. I ask myself the same question as I clean and re-stock the woodstove, and pick up the stray Eskimo Pie wrappers near the couch to put it in a garbage bag. ‘_Does Cosima ever regret moving here?’_ Sometimes, I look out for signs of regret, but everything about her – her simple touches, her words, the way she interacts with everybody in the ranch, her kisses, the way she moves against me during sex - say otherwise. But will it be the case next month? Next year? I don’t know and I can’t help but feel guilt about it.

I replenish her fridge with more ice cream and place new teabags and chips on her cupboard. Maybe it’s possible for us to split our time between here and San Francisco. Maybe I should tell her we can do that. I don’t know what she wants, what she needs - I just know that I don’t want her to ever resent me.

“Del! Del!” I hear Krystal bellow before she even knocked on the cabin’s door. “We’re ready!”

“I’ll see you outside,” I replied as I turn off the lights and lock the door, hoping to contain the doubts to myself for now.

\-----

“So why are you interested to be an apprentice?” I asked Raj, my 10 a.m. appointment, while going through his portfolio.

“I wanted to try something different,” he said. “As you can see, I specialize in photography, and I only dabble with painting and drawing. But I think the shift would be great for the future - for me and for my work.”

His answer is tinged with humility and a dose of naiveté, which is quite refreshing given the many versions of_ “You should pick me because I’m the best artist in this University and I have my shit together,” _that I’ve gotten from the nine other aspiring apprentices I’ve already spoke with. I decide to ride with Raj’s train of thought to figure out if he’s bullshitting me or not, so I ask him: “How is being a painter’s apprentice going to make you a better photographer?”

Raj shifts in his chair and moves closer, as if he wants to share a secret with me. “Professor Niehaus,” he started, clearing his throat before continuing to speak, “the truth is sometimes, I wake up and I want nothing more but to throw my camera to the wall. I think am slowly getting tired of photography,” and if he’s lying then he’s a pretty damn good liar because I instantly believed him. “So I asked around about you and I found out that you became a full-time artist because you got burned out while working in advertising. I would really appreciate the opportunity to have a different perspective on art because maybe, a different view point and learning something new from someone who’s been where I am now will do me a lot of good.”

I consider his words and can’t help but feel a sort of kinship with Raj. While I’ve always loved to paint, I can sympathize with the need for a different perspective. And if I really put his answer to heart, perhaps aside from having a life with Delphine, a reason why I’m not that worried about my paintings is because being here in Canada – be it in the city or in the ranch – has given me a new perspective on art and its ever-evolving meaning in my life. Art and painting used to be my escape - a safe refuge when life gets too hard or when I find myself ambushed by the memories of that summer 26 years ago; but now it’s my way of expressing the happiness and peace I have felt ever since Delphine and I finally got together. 

“I appreciate the honesty,” I then said, “and whoever gets picked, I will let you know,” - though I think he just zoomed at the top of the candidate’s list. I stood up and we shook hands before he gave me a polite nod as he walked out. And as soon as Raj opens the door, my heart started beating wildly at the sight of Delphine, patiently waiting outside my office with a shy but playful smile on her beautiful face.

\----- 

The look on Cosima’s face when she saw me is priceless. It was the look of utter surprise that made her eyes even more radiant and captivating. It gave her a smile so big, so warm, and so genuine that simply being at the receiving end of it wipes away the doubts I have about her decision to settle down with me in the ranch. I waited until her student - a lanky, young man in his 20s – left the room before I enter to give her a tight embrace.

“Look who’s suddenly hot for teacher,” she playfully teased as my hands slide from her back to her hips. “Hello chérie,” I said before kissing her on the corner of her mouth. I know we’re at her office where the walls are thin and the door is ajar, but I can’t stop myself from being close to her – not when she’s looking so beautiful and happy to see me.

“This, you being here,” she said as she holds me and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, “is a very nice surprise. I should be the one doing the surprising,” she uttered as she tugs on the hem of my sweater. “Happy birthday, I’m so lucky...” I didn’t let her finish and elected to bring our lips together, hoping to convey that as far as I’m concerned, I’ll always be the luckier one in this relationship.

She returns my kiss with enthusiasm as her warm tongue sensually tries to deepen the kiss - a sure sign that if we don’t get a hold of ourselves, there will be more than just kissing happening in this room at this hour. I reluctantly pull away and caress her cheek, but not before giving her one last peck on the lips. “I wanted to surprise you,” I said, “and would also like to take you out to lunch when you’re done here.”

She smiles as she leans her forehead on mine, “I’m done here,” she said as she rubs her palms on my arms. “And lunch sounds very good – but I’m paying – and Lyra is coming with us.”

“Really?” I said, a bit surprised but happy that Cosima is including Lyra in our plans – even if it’s as minor as a lunch date.

“Yeah, with Lyra,” and she lovingly looks at me as if I’m the source of all that’s good and awesome in this world. “You should get to celebrate your birthday with your two best girls, don’t you think?” And before I could even kiss her again, the sounds of footsteps interrupted us.

“Maman!” Lyra said as Cosima gives me a kiss on the cheek before making her way back to her desk. “This is a nice surprise!” We were supposed to have dinner later to celebrate my birthday. “If I had known you were here now, I would have brought you my gift,” and she gives me a kiss.

“What are you doing here, ma poulette?” I asked, a little confused that amidst Lyra’s busy school and work schedule, she has somehow found a pocket of time to be here in Cosima’s office.

“Cosima and I made plans for lunch,” Lyra casually said.

“Is that so?” I look to Lyra and then Cosima, trying to figure out what is it I’m missing. Before I knew it, Cosima is wearing her coat and grabbing her bag, while exchanging knowing looks with Lyra. I watch them and I try to wrap my head around what’s happening. Is it merely a ploy for them to play nice and friendly for my birthday? Or are they really starting to form a warmer relationship? Cosima locked her office and gently pulled me back by my elbow to let Lyra walk ahead of us. “She came to see me this morning,” she whispered a small portion of the explanation I was looking for, “to talk about Gabi.” My eyes went wide at my girlfriend’s words. “Yeah,” she said when she saw my expression, “I gotta warn you though, it’s not looking pretty.”

I grapple with a mixture of feelings as we make our way to my truck. While a breakthrough between Lyra and Cosima warms my heart, I can’t help but be worried about Lyra and whatever it is that she said about Gabi. The last thing I want in this world is for my daughter to get hurt – and the prospect of her heartbreak while I’m at my happiest with Cosima also makes me feel uneasy.

Lyra suggests going to the same Italian place where we celebrated her birthday while Cosima looks out the window and points to a particular building inside the University. “I forgot to tell you this morning,” Cosima said to Lyra, “that I might be getting an apartment in campus.” This is something we have already agreed on since she would be teaching a class that ends at 8 p.m. and the last thing I want is for her to drive on unfamiliar and slippery roads at night. “An Anthropology professor is subletting his apartment – he’ll be away for a couple of years for a research trip. It’s a 2-bedroom, and I can use a roommate,” Cosima suggested. That morning talk may have been really something for Cosima to be confident that Lyra is going to consider her offer. “I’ll think about it,” Lyra said with a reserved smile.

This part – Lyra and Cosima living together while in the city - is news to me. And I can’t wait to find out what brought this on as I park near the restaurant.

\-----

We get to the restaurant and immediately got a small table for three. As we make our way to our table, Lyra mentions that this homey Italian restaurant is a go-to place for her and her Maman. “We go here for birthdays or when we’re in the city and we can’t figure out where to eat,” she adds. Once seated, I rest my hand at the top of Delphine’s knee, a touch meant to reassure her that I’m making progress with Lyra. She finds my hand and holds it with hers before saying, “this is the first restaurant where we ate right after Montana.” The sentiment warms my heart because more than being invited for Thanksgiving and more than being given my own space in the ranch, this feels like the real, intimate welcome I needed from both Delphine and Lyra.

We order our food and it came as no surprise that both mother and daughter have already picked their restaurant favourites. I flip through the menu once more and settled for spaghetti with meatballs and a salad. I look to Lyra, checking to see if she needs me to go so she can tell her Mom about Gabi. I see her opening her handbag instead as she gets a cigarette and a lighter. She looks to her Mom and holds both, asking for permission to light up. Delphine just nodded, though I can tell by the way she looks at the cigarette that she wants one too. It wasn’t long before Delphine is looking at me while gripping my hand under the table, as if asking if it’s okay for her to smoke too. “Go ahead,” I said, amused that I even have to give my go-ahead as she asks Lyra for a stick.

Both women quietly smoked and traded puffs - the quiet was only disturbed by a waiter who brought an ashtray and some bread. “Oh by the way,” I uttered when I can no longer take the silence, “I have a surprise for you both. I’m taking you two for a Christmas getaway up in Whistler – it’s this hotel by a lake. Can you join us on the 23rd, Lyra?” I asked.

“Sure,” she answered before taking one last drag of her short cigarette and stubbing it out on the ashtray. “Excuse me, I have to go to the washroom,” and she stood and left.

“Chérie,” Delphine quickly said when Lyra turned and disappeared towards the restroom, “what’s going on?” And while I could never understand why people smoke cigarettes, there is something so inexplicably sexy about seeing Delphine cradling a lit stick and bringing it between her pink lips. “Chérie!” She said a bit louder when she realized I’m distracted.

“It’s about her and Gabi,” I stammered, trying to not think of Delphine’s lips. “It’s better if she tells you. Oh, also, we’re going to Whistler now – after this lunch.” Delphine’s eyebrows rose in confusion, “but I thought we’re going on the 23rd?”

“Lyra is joining us on the 23rd,” I said, trying to be flirtatious and enticing, “and until then, I plan to have my way with you, Doctor Cormier.” She smiles at that, her eyes glinting with mischief and want. “Professor Niehaus,” she playfully whispered as she brushes the palm of her hand all over my thighs.

“It’s my birthday surprise for you,” and though it’s easy to be lost in this flirtation, I gather my wits and catch her roaming hand. “But you have to talk to her first,” I said, “I’ll excuse myself when she comes back. Give you 10 minutes, tops. Just ask her about it- tell her I said it’s about her and Gabi.” And right on cue, Lyra returns just as the appetizers were being rolled out on our table.

“I’m gonna go wash my hands before eating,” I said, giving Delphine the time alone she needs to talk with her daughter.

\----- 

“Cosima tells me that you talked about Gabi this morning,” I said, the curiosity and the need to be of help to my daughter making me go straight to the point. Lyra lights another cigarette and set the pack between us before answering. “I love her Maman,” she said before blowing a cloud of smoke downwards. “I think I’ve loved her ever since we were in high school...”

“Why are you only telling me this now?” I asked, wanting to know why she held back something as important as falling in love with someone from me.

“I was afraid,” and she lets out a breath, “of what you’ll think of a daughter who’s in love with another girl.” She intensely sucks on her cigarette as she avoids looking at me. “To be honest, seeing you with Cosima made me brave to tell Gabi how I really feel...”

“With or without Cosima,” I said, “I will love you for who you are, for whoever lucky person you choose to love. You’re happiness is my own,” remembering the words my own Maman used to tell me, “and if you’ll truly be happy with her, then you have my support, ma poulette.

I didn’t expect her to break down and cry at what I said, thinking that she might find some comfort in my support and understanding. I reach out to hold her in my arms and the sight of my daughter sobbing proves to be more painful than any heartbreak or loss I’ve experienced in my life. “You’re sadness is my own too,” I said as I stroke her hair. “Please tell me what happened.” And through sobs and muffled cries, she did: how she has such bad timing, picking to confess to Gabi on the night of Thanksgiving when she’s leaving for Boston to be with Ferdinand the next day; how the relationship started when they were in high school – just like what Krystal told me when we got back from San Francisco; the salty kisses they shared that night; and how Gabi asked her for time to make a decision: be with Ferdinand or my Lyra.

Just then, Cosima rejoins us and she cautiously looks at me and then Lyra before starting to eat her salad. “And what did you choose to do?” I asked. I watch Lyra as she looks at me and then at Cosima before answering. “We talked about it this morning,” she said and she smiled at Cosima – which gives me comfort that she trusts her enough to confide in her – “and I’ve decided to give her what she needs. If she needs more time, then I will wait. Whatever happens, at least I gave her what she needed when she needed it the most.” Not knowing what else to do, I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Some birthday gift I have for you, right Maman?” She self-deprecates.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” I said as hold her hand before she starts eating, “but your honesty and bravery is the best gift you’ve ever given me.” This time, my words work in bringing a smile (albeit a sad one) on her face as she proceeds to start eating her tomato soup.

Cosima, sensing a need to change topics, gamely talked about the hotel we are staying in – how she has a meeting with the general manager to discuss the paintings they would like her to make. And as she excitedly tells Lyra about our hotel room and the activities she has lined up for our Christmas vacation, I can’t help but be engulfed with worry that Lyra is setting herself up for a major heartbreak. I’m not sure if she knows that Krystal and Scott are actually spending Christmas in Boston to meet up with Gabi and meet Ferdinand’s parents and family. “We’re going to discuss a date that works for all of us,” I remember Krystal saying a few weeks ago, almost in surrender. I don’t know if not telling Lyra about it now is wise...I just don’t want to be another source of her pain – not now, not ever.

The pastas and the pizza came in, and Lyra hands Cosima a slice. She lights up at how delicious the cheese pizza is before getting a slice and putting it on my plate. At this moment, I’m so thankful for Cosima – how patient she has been with Lyra, and how she is trying to be there for her. And their shared laughter about Cosima’s story of almost burning down their house in Paradise Ranch when she and her sister tried to make their own pizza was more than enough for me to set aside my worries about them. For now, as I take a bite of my pizza, I’ll enjoy what I hope to be the first of many meals that we will share together as a family.

\-----

“So,” I said as I wipe Delphine’s arousal on and around my mouth with the back of my hand, “Is this a good surprise or what?” The serene view of the lake while the snow delicately falls on the windows has nothing on the way Delphine looks now - beautiful and almost luminescent, with her hand casually resting on her forehead while her other hand runs through my dreads.

“Great surprise, ma chérie,” she said with a tired but satisfied smile as I pepper her thighs with little kisses. “Come up here,” and she reaches out for my arm as I give her clit one more kiss which makes her shiver. “I love you so much,” I said before I lay by her side so I can kiss her gently.

She made a face I’m not yet familiar with before she replied a breathy “I love you, too,” making me wonder what’s on her mind. I know she’s had a long and tiring day with everything that happened with Lyra and the business that had to be taken care of in the ranch, and though I wouldn’t mind sleeping in, she was already making her intentions very clear the minute we got into our room as she stripped naked right before my eyes after pinning me to the door.

“Hey,” I said, cupping her chin so I can make her look at me instead of the ceiling. “Where did you go?” She moves in towards me, asking to be cuddled and held close. I press my nose on the top of her head and get a faint smell of her shampoo, reminding me how Delphine always smells so good and how easy it is for me to get lost in trying to memorize her scent.

“Do you miss it?” Delphine asks as she draws invisible patterns on my bare chest.

“Miss what?” And my fingers coast from one freckle to another on her back.

“San Francisco,” she whispered softly, as if saying it loudly is forbidden. “What you’re really asking me,” I said in a neutral, careful tone, “is if I regret moving to Canada. Right?” And she nods without looking at me.

“I don’t regret it one bit,” I said with a I kiss on her forehead. “Moving here has been giving me a new perspective on art, on life. It has given me a lot of things I never knew I’ve wanted – teaching, being part of another family, making new friends.”

“But would it still be the same next year?” Delphine said as she tightens her embrace around my waist.

“You know what I was doing last year in San Francisco?” I said while playing with her fingers with my hand. “I was drawing a dandelion for your birthday. You saw it that day in the studio,” and she nods. “I wished that you’re doing well, that you’re happy – the usual. But I also wished that you’re with me so I can tell you I love you in person. I also wished that saying I love you is just an ordinary part of the day for us because that would mean that we actually have a life together. A life where I can say I love you and you will say I love you too, and then you can go on with your ranch chores and I can go back to painting.”

I stroke the side of her face and she looks up to me with her piercing hazel eyes. “I don’t have to paint dandelions on your birthday anymore because instead of wishing you well, I can just make sure you’re doing well,” and I kiss the tip of her nose. “Instead of wishing that you’re happy, I can just try to make you happy,” and I give her my biggest, silliest smile which made her laugh. “And instead of silently saying Happy Birthday, I can just say Happy Birthday, Delphine.”

She comes up to hover over me before giving me a breathtaking kiss. “I love you, Cosima.” And I breathe a sigh of relief that my words have somehow made her worries disappear. “I love you too. God, it feels so good to say that out loud,” and I kiss her back with every ounce of passion that I have.

“Now,” Delphine said as she brushes her lips on my jaw and neck, “it’s my turn,” and I gasp in delicious anticipation as she slowly drags her fingers down. “My wishes came true,” I manage to say before getting lost in the sensations elicited by her skilled tongue and nimble fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are only four more chapters to go so I would like to say thank you to everybody sticking around and reading my ramblings. Let me know what works and what doesn't work for you. :)


	13. Simple Gestures: May 27, 1984

The pan sizzles with every strip of the homemade maple-cured bacon that I lay in it, giving Cosima and Lyra’s apartment a delicious, festive scent. I made it a point this morning to prepare a delicious breakfast for all of us, but for Lyra most especially because she has a busy day ahead. The least I can do is send her off on a full, satisfied tummy because she is graduating later this afternoon, and she has to attend a luncheon with the University’s alumni and her professors as well. And I’m pretty sure that my stoic daughter who hates small talks wouldn’t be able to eat lunch - not when she needs to smile a lot, hobnob and network.

My Lyra may have her share of imperfections, but nothing will ever stop me from marveling at her accomplishments. While I prep the batter for the waffle-maker that I brought with me from the ranch, I remember the many reasons why I am a proud Maman: she’s been an honor student ever since she started schooling, and she rarely got into trouble - except for that one time when she and Gabi were caught scribbling Latin on the walls of their high school’s restroom. But that really doesn’t count - after all, I believe in their _Futurum est Feminam_ graffiti.

One of the things that I really admire about her is how she always manages to get her ducks in a row even amidst a crisis – and graduating in spring is a testament to her resilience and determination. I may not know the specifics of her academic workload, but I’ve done the math and I know that she was scheduled to graduate in the fall – this November, not this May. But she overloaded and worked overtime to expedite her degree, and whenever I ask her why she would say _“I want to start my PhD immediately so I can start the MD program too.”_ I accepted her reasoning, no questions asked, for it goes without saying that she took all those classes and finished her thesis to get her mind off of waiting for Gabi’s decision.

I beat the eggs with a fork and remember how difficult it was to tell her last Christmas that Scott and Krystal were actually in Boston with their daughter to finally meet Ferdinand and his family. Before we checked out of the hotel, I mentioned it to her at Cosima’s prodding – and not surprisingly, the disclosure left her quiet and a bit sideswiped. It wasn’t until we were driving home to the ranch when she spoke.

“They’re there to set a date, right? For the wedding...” She said and all I could do was nod as I navigate the slippery & snowy roads. Cosima was literally in the middle of that conversation since she was sitting between us, and with both hands she held my hand and reached out for Lyra’s. It was a simple gesture that spoke volumes – meant to reassure, meant to comfort, and meant to signify togetherness no matter what happens.

I cut some strawberries to finish arranging three full plates of breakfast when I hear Cosima emerge from our room in the apartment. I look up and see her with an intricate-looking camera with an imposing lens hanging around her neck. She also has her hands full as she carries a flash, batteries, another camera that looks simpler and less intimidating, a Polaroid camera, and films. She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before setting her wares down on the breakfast bar.

“Ugghh,” she groans as she opens a roll of film while I place her breakfast on the table. “Raj has already showed me how to load this thing,” she muttered as she tries to put the film in the expensive-looking camera.

I try to stifle a laugh but my shoulders are shaking from my subtle giggles. “You’re finicky this morning, mon amour,” I joked when she finally succeeds in putting the film inside the camera.

She looks up to me with a slight hint of annoyance. “Raj refuses to load the film for me, says I should learn how because if it runs out, he won’t be there to help me out,” and she proceeds to attach the camera’s flash. “Goddamn hot shoe...so freakin’ tight...so difficult to...” and it clicks into place which made her smile. I sit beside her with my own plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee, amused by an antsy Cosima who’s now winding the film. “Okay, let’s take a test shot, smile!” And she presses the button while aiming the camera at my direction.

“What the fuh...” and Cosima panics when numerous presses of the button yielded neither a click nor a flash.

“The batteries, chérie,” I coyly said while pointing to the battery sporting a similar brand to the camera she’s brandishing.

“Oh goddammit!” She said as she puts the battery in before taking the first shot. I let out the laugh I’ve been holding in when she finally got to take my picture.

“Like an anxious parent...” I said in between bites of my bacon, “you’re fussier than I am.”

“You’ve attended so many of her graduations,” she said as she sets aside the camera and stabs at her scrambled eggs with a fork. “This is my first – I want it to be perfectly captured on film,” and she chews the eggs and waffles. Still laughing and still amused, I kiss her over breakfast, hoping that my simple gesture will speak volumes about how happy she makes me by simply being her.

\-----

I wanted to call Raj this morning to ask him again how to load the film and how to install the hot shoe flash on the professional SLR camera he loaned me, but it was 9 in the morning and I know that he’s probably out of his dorm by now. Left to my own devices, I was able to put in both the film and flash with some luck - only to get ribbed by Delphine about forgetting the batteries. It doesn’t matter though, because the ribbing came with a sweet kiss which calmed me down...until I had to load the other cameras with their matching batteries and films. Unlike Delphine, I’m quite new to graduations. Apart from my own school graduations, I’ve only attended one other person’s graduation rites my entire life - that would be Kira’s high school graduation back in Buffalo. I wasn’t able to take photos then, but now that I am armed with cameras, I wouldn’t let a moment pass without it being immortalized on film.

“Good morning,” Lyra sleepily mumbled as she makes her way to the kitchen to pour herself some coffee. Delphine hops off from the stool to kiss her daughter on the forehead and to serve her breakfast. With a cup of coffee in one hand and a plateful of food in another, Lyra takes the seat across me as she silently eats and drinks.

By this time, I’ve gotten to know Lyra well enough to know that she’s not a morning person - it’s best to let her drink her first cup of coffee first before engaging her in any conversation. She is also a creature of habit, making sure to down the first cup of black coffee in 10 minutes like clockwork. Delphine, who knows all her daughter’s quirks and preferences, has already set the brew pot on the breakfast table to make it easy for Lyra to pour her second cup. I took a photo of her as she was taking a small sip of her second coffee and with her now fully awake, she manages to crack a small smile as she holds the cup to her mouth.

It’s been five months since we got an apartment in the city and I’m still quite surprised at how easy it is to live with my partner’s daughter. Lyra living with me is a no-brainer as far as me and Delphine are concerned: the apartment is cheaper, closer to school without being that far from downtown where Lyra works part-time, and definitely bigger than the apartment she shared with a workmate. Still, I expected some resistance and awkwardness from her when she first moved in and it took a while for us to get comfortable with each other’s presence. It was easier to get used to each other’s routines though: Lyra stays here most of the time, only coming up to the ranch on weekends when she didn’t have school or work (which was rare these past months). I only hang out here during lulls in my Tuesday and Wednesday classes, and I sleep over only on Thursdays after my night class. I go home by mid-afternoon so I can be at the ranch before dinner on Friday.

We bonded through cooking, which is odd because on a scale of 1 to 10, my cooking skills is at about a 5...okay, a 3. I didn’t even know that Lyra can cook until I got the flu one Thursday in late January and couldn’t drive back home the next day. Lyra made us chicken soup while Delphine drove here from the ranch. Even with my bland sense of taste, I found it appetizing and her soup was all I wanted to eat until I got better a few days later.

Since then, I found out that when she has the time and energy, Lyra is an excellent cook. After another night of Chinese take-out, we decided over fortune cookies to alternately cook dinner for us during Thursdays when we’re both here at the apartment. She volunteered to go first and on the first Thursday of our dinner arrangement, she made a hearty Pig and Pea Soup which was perfect for the cold weather. “This is one of the first dishes Maman taught me to make,” she shared as we continued talking over dinner about her work and studies, and about the student summer exhibit that I’m helping to stage and curate.

The next Thursday, I made us pasta with a ready-made garlic marinara sauce and paired it with fresh bread from the local bakery. Lyra had no complaints and was happy to eat it. Come the next week, Lyra went to the market and made us a honey garlic salmon dinner. It was fresh, light but filling, and cooked to perfection. When my turn to cook came again the next Thursday, I cooked us pasta with a ready-made Alfredo sauce and paired it with bread from a local bakery.

“So all you can do,” she said with a laugh two weeks later as we share our Thursday Pasta (this time with ready-made pesto sauce), “is boil pasta and open a jar.”

“Pretty much,” I said in between forkfuls of casarecce. 

“Does Maman know?” She teases and I didn’t mind her laughter at my expense. If anything, I’m quite glad that my culinary limitation is a source of amusement for her. At this point, anything that makes her smile will make me and her Maman smile.

“She knows I can cook and fend for myself if that’s what you’re asking,” I answered with a chuckle. “But no, she doesn’t know that all I can cook is pasta.”

“Cook is quite big of a word for what you are doing,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong though, I appreciate it. But is there something you want to learn how to cook, maybe I can teach you,” she offered.

“There might be something I want to learn how to make,” I said, “your Maman said something about a dessert that she loves...”

“Pouding chômeur,” Lyra proclaimed confidently as she takes a piece of bread and dips it in the pasta sauce.

“If that means Poor Man’s pudding, then yes, that,” I said. “It’ll be a nice surprise for her, I think.”

“Yes, pouding chômeur,” and she nods. “Maman loves it – she orders it whenever it’s on the menu, but she never makes them at home for some reason...Tell you what, Cosima, I’ll teach you how to make pouding chômeur every Thursday. I’ll cook the dinner while you make the pudding. How’s that sound?”

And that’s how Pudding Thursdays started. The first thing I learned about pouding chômeur is how to pronounce it (_“we’ll work on your French next,”_ Lyra promised). The second thing I learned about it is that it’s quite easy to make (“_all you really need is maple syrup,_” Lyra said). The third thing I learned about it is because it’s easy to make, it’s also easy to fuck it up - as evidenced by Pouding Chômeur Version 1 which, to put it lightly, was a hot mess. 

“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this,” Lyra said when she reluctantly took a bite of the questionable dessert, “but I would rather eat Aunt Krystal’s exotic dishes than have another bite of that.”

“Really? It’s that bad? Even against Krystal’s venison marmalade?” The weekend before, Krystal made this venison dish that she happily shared with us. “It’s bad,” Scott discreetly warned us and I tasted it when Delphine dared me. He’s right though - it was bad.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Lyra said as she pushed the plate away from her. “But yeah, gun to my head I’d pick whatever that is over this. Sorry, let’s try again next week.”

Trying harder, Pouding Chômeur Version 2 showed signs of promise. “The pudding is way better,” Lyra said as she managed to eat her entire slice while avoiding the syrup, “but next time, keep a close eye on the maple syrup – make sure it isn't burnt.”

The third attempt in late March doesn’t count - whether the pudding was good or bad, Lyra and I ate it all while overanalyzing a postcard that Gabi sent for her birthday. 

“Hey, it’s Pigeon Point in Pescadero,” I said while she read the card. “What did it say?”

“_‘Happy Birthday - Love, Gabi’,_” and she handed me the card before grabbing a pint of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. She gets a scoop and puts it over her pudding before taking a bite. I'm aware that since getting a generic Christmas card from Gabi, there has been nothing but radio silence between her and Lyra, and by the time I got home that evening, the birthday card was already on the breakfast bar.

“It was sent on March 9th from Berkeley,” I said while inspecting the postage stamps as we each take big bites of the pudding. “Look at the letter _L_, Ly,” I said, nudging her on her shoulder to point it out to her. “Look at the obvious pause... It’s like she hesitated to write it.” I didn’t mean to blurt it out, but my mind was still stuck on that night’s lesson when I discussed to my students how a painter's hesitation and doubts manifest in their strokes. 

“Well...by this time next year,” Lyra said as she clears the table, “she’s already married.” And that was the last thing she said about it as she quietly posted the card on the fridge door while I washed the dishes.

I knew the recipe by heart by the fifth time and all in all, it took eight painstaking tries before I finally got pouding chômeur right. “This is great,” Lyra said about Pudding #8, “Maman will be very surprised and happy.” That time, we finished the pudding because it was really delicious.

“You’ve got this Cos,” Lyra said and we exchange fist bumps before she kissed her Maman goodbye to leave for her pre-graduation party.

“What was that for?” An amused and curious Delphine asks as soon as the door closes.

“Something about the students’ summer exhibit,” I lied with my cheekiest smile, not wanting to unravel the culinary surprise I have in store for her.

“Summer exhibit huh?”She said with a cute, cocked eyebrow as she saunters to the couch where I’m chilling. “I’m pretty sure that little fist bump isn’t about an art show, mon amour.”

“It is,” I said, trying to act innocent, “whatever could it be but that...”

“I bet I can get you to tell me what you two are up to...” And my temptress stands before me while she loosens her dark blue robe, giving me a sneak peek of her underwear. I couldn’t stop myself from wetting my lips, excitedly anticipating what’s to come.

“We are not up to anything, I swear,” I said, playing along with Delphine’s sexy game. “But...” And I sit up to pull her close to me, “I’m interested with what you have to offer,” and my fingers untie her robe. “_Two can play at that game,_” I thought as I gently caress the smooth, alabaster skin just underneath her bra.

“Come with me,” and she offers me her hand. My God, I love this woman so much - I’d go anywhere with her.

One of the things I like about this apartment is that it has two bathrooms – a smaller one in my room, and a bigger one with a tub just outside Lyra’s bedroom. The separate toilet and bath is vital in my peaceful co-existence with Lyra because it helps in eliminating a lot of awkward situations. And because we only had an outhouse when we were herding sheep up in the Wyoming cabin, I’ve just recently found out that Delphine really enjoys shower sex.

She locks the door then leaves a trail of clothes in my bedroom before entering the shower. Properly teased and turned on, I disrobe as fast as I can to catch the first sight of the warm water hitting and flowing on Delphine’s body. I bite my lower lip when she ran her hands on her wet, long, blonde hair before sliding her hands on her body. I hop into the shower and her hands roaming all over my backside is making me hot and bothered. I capture her in a tight embrace before kissing her and gently massaging her breasts.

Delphine then kneels before me after thoroughly teasing my nipples with her tongue which shook me and made me lean on the warm tiles for support. She’s so close to where I want her pretty lips to be that I can feel the warm water on her face evaporating by the mouth of my arousal. She presses soft, wet kisses on my inner thighs instead that elicited a grunt of frustration from me. 

“Tell me what you’re up to, Cosima,” she said as her lustful, hazel eyes look up to me. The way she utters my name is sexier, more arousing than any dirty talk I have ever heard in my life.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to mask my impatience as I stroke her hair and the back of her head. She continues coasting her mouth all over my inner thigh, all the while refusing to break eye contact with me. “I won’t let you come if you don’t tell me, chérie,” as her tongue joins in the teasing.

“You are the devil, my love,” and I shift a little to turn off the shower so that I can “accidentally” graze my folds on her mouth, hoping that feeling how wet I am will make her forgo the torturous withholding game she’s playing.

Still on her knees, Delphine slides her hands up to pinch my nipples as she continues kissing my hips and thighs. Unable to take it anymore, I part myself and rub my clit with my own fingers. At my first moan, she stops her languid kissing and I peek down to see her watching me touch myself. “_That made you pay attention,_” I thought as her hands retreat from my breasts so she can mirror what I’m doing on her own wetness.

We look at each other in the eye as the sounds of carnal pleasure echo all over the small bathroom. “Like what you see?” I managed to say in between moans. Delphine wordlessly agrees as she lets out moans of her own. My little ruse proved to be effective and before long, she swatted my hands with her face so she can replace them with her mouth.

“I like what I see too,” I said as she continues pleasuring herself while pushing me over the edge. “I want you to make me come, baby,” and she nods, the blush on her face and the irregularities of her licks telling me that she’s close as well. “Come with me, chérie,” I said, knowing how much she likes it when I try to speak French. “Oh my God!!!” And my knees buckle as I lean down for support on Delphine’s trembling shoulders.

Flushed and satisfied, I help her get up. She kisses me and I taste myself on her lips, which tempts me to forget about the shower altogether so I can push her down on the bed. “We will never be ready,” Delphine said before giving me one more kiss and turning the shower back on. I soap the sponge to lather her back as she washes her hair with my shampoo.

“So,” she said, motioning for me to turn so she can return the favor of soaping her back, “what are you not telling me?”

I let out a laugh as I portion out small amounts of shampoo on my palms for my dreads. “All in due time, chérie. All in due time...”

\-----

Lyra’s graduation was a wonderful ceremony and like before, I cried tears of joy and beamed with pride when Lyra received her diploma with honors. Scott and Krystal, who drove straight from the ranch, sat in our assigned seats since Cosima managed to get us seats that are more comfortable and have a better view of the stage. All throughout the ceremony, we held hands whenever we can, whispered sweet nothings to each other, and clapped loudly and hollered when Lyra took to the stage. She stayed true to her intention of documenting this day from start to finish as she took numerous snapshots of Lyra, me, and the event in general.

I can’t help but reminisce about Lyra’s various school graduations as the ceremony drawled on for hours. I’ve always found it odd that an intelligent and academically-gifted girl like Lyra never made a fuss about graduations, leaving me more excited and giddier than her in the lead-up and during the actual ceremonies. “The transcript and diploma are what’s really important, not this sideshow,” she said to me when she graduated college from the same university.

One graduation stands out from the collective though. When Lyra graduated as high school valedictorian, she had no choice but to give a damn about the ceremony. I remember how she procrastinated about writing her speech – how she refused to work on it until the night before graduation when she really needed to come up with something to say. I thought she was dilly-dallying because she and Gabi seemed to have had a fight - they were practically exchanging single-word replies during the small congratulatory party we hosted for them. In hindsight though, that and what she said during her high school graduation should have clued me in on how deeply she has fallen for Gabi, and the uncertainties and fears that come with the feelings she was suppressing.

“_Rosalind Franklin believed that Science and everyday life,_” she said - trying not to flinch in front of her teachers, classmates and their families, “_cannot and should not be separated. This quote has been in my head last night when I can no longer push away the reality that..._” And she paused, not for dramatic effect, but to look for a particular person in the crowd, which I know now to be Gabi. _“The reality that in life, just like in Science, there are risks that yield high rewards with the potential to enrich our lives...to give it color, warmth, and more love than we deserve.”_

She looked so unprepared, I remember thinking to myself when she spoke, but I wanted to know where she was going with her speech. She cleared her throat and went on to finish it. “_I stand before you in the hopes that one day, I – all of us – will have the courage and strength to take on these risks no matter the outcome. But right now, I don’t know if I’m ever going to be strong enough, brave enough...to even try. But maybe for now, it’s enough to hang on to the belief that we can face the uncertainties together.”_ It wasn’t the most rousing speech, but I was too consumed with pride that I didn’t really go beyond the surface to figure out what pushed her to say those things and who she was really saying those things to.

“Congratulations, Hon,” Krystal said to Lyra after the graduation rites before giving her a tight hug. “We are so proud of you!!!”

“Thank you, Krystal,” and she removes her toga and medal to hand it to me. “It’s nice of you guys to be here,” she said not only to Krystal but also to Scott who is chatting with Cosima.

“Are you kidding me, kid?” Krystal said while stroking Lyra’s arm, “we wouldn’t miss it for the word. Besides, I know that your Mom and Cosima are going to return the favor...” and Krystal stops talking, catching herself from saying that we promised to be in Berkeley when it’s Gabi’s turn to graduate.

“Maman I’m hungry,” Lyra said to change the topic, “let’s go grab some dinner.”

When I got to the city a couple of days ago, Lyra refused my offer to have dinner somewhere fancier and more opulent, so we made reservations to have dinner at our go-to Italian restaurant in the city. The manager gave us the best table in the house – the private dining space inside a re-purposed and redecorated old Vancouver trolley car adorned with soft, yellow lights. We order all the old reliables (lasagna, tortellini, baby back ribs, manicotti, and clam chowder soup), and Cosima’s new favorite dishes (calamari and a Philadelphia cheese steak sandwich). Being regular customers, the manager didn’t mind when we brought our own bottles of wine for tonight.

“I’d like to say a few words,” Lyra said as a waiter poured some water for us. “Thank you all for being here tonight, for coming to my graduation. Being able to share this with you all makes it more special, more real. I want to thank Maman most especially, for always loving me...even when I seem to hate. I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you, Maman.” I pull her towards me to give her kisses on her cheeks, and when we came face to face, I can see a glimmer of the smile she used to give me when she was still a little girl. Several flashes of light distracted us and when I search where that came from, I see Cosima at the edge of the table, taking photos and wiping tears from her eyes.

“I’d also like to remember the important people in our lives that are not here with us now, but who would always be in our hearts,” Lyra continued. “Mark – who has been a great big brother to me all these years, and his family. And Gabi who...” and when she paused, Krystal and I exchange concerned and knowing looks, “is my best friend. And of course Papa, who along with Maman gave me life, took care of me, and loved me dearly. If he can see me now, I wish that he’s proud of me.” Cosima continued taking our photos and I caught her nodding sympathetically when Lyra paid tribute to Christophe.

“Alright, that’s it, let’s eat!” Lyra said as the first batch of food arrived on our table. Cosima refuses to sit down, insisting on taking more photos for an album she plans to customize as a graduation gift for Lyra. Before eating, Cosima asks each of us to pose with the graduate - she took a photo of Lyra with Scott and Krystal (“_you know my best angle, right?” _Krystal inquired before posing for the photo); Lyra and me; and several photos of the entire group. Satisfied with the shots she got, Cosima takes the seat next to mine and began filling her plate with calamari.

“Wait!” Lyra said to the waiter who just brought us our food. “Can you take a photo of all of us?” And she stands to get the simpler camera from Cosima’s bag.

“I already took all the group photos you could ever want,” Cosima said before licking a few drops of dip that got to her fingers.

“Yeah, you took all the photos,” Lyra said as she hands the camera to the waiter, “so you’re not in any of them.” And she takes a seat beside Cosima as the waiter counted 1-2-3 before taking a shot. “And one more photo please,” she requested when the camera was being handed back to her, “of just the three of us, please.” She stood in the middle of Cosima and me, smiling for the camera as she rests her palms on our shoulders. After thanking the waiter, Lyra returns the camera in exchange for the Polaroid. She goes back to us and with outstretched hands took an instant snap. “Something for the apartment,” she said as she waits for the picture to emerge. It wasn’t a perfect photo – it’s a little darker than your typical photograph - but its imperfection serves to highlight the beaming smiles on all our faces.

Lyra’s gesture is simple but speaks volumes – and at that moment, I couldn’t think of anything else to do but offer a silent thank you to the universe for making this moment possible.

We eat and share our meals. Scott told me over chowder that the final contracts from Nancy Robinson just came in the mail this morning. “Took them long enough,” I mumbled before taking a spoonful of soup. “Yeah,” Scott agrees, “I spoke with Mr. Reynolds when he brought his horse to the clinic. Turns out our friend Nancy shopped around all over Pemberton and Lillooet before picking us.” As Krystal talked about how Nancy can use a perm “to soften her features”, I look over to my side to see Cosima and Lyra locked in what looks like an intense conversation.

“Dude, come on,” Cosima groaned, “how am I supposed to use the restroom now?” I only overheard snippets, but it seems that Lyra has chosen tonight to tell Cosima about the rumored ghosts haunting the restaurant, in particular the alleged mischievous spirit whose favorite prank is surprising female customers while they use the washroom.

“It’s true though,” Lyra said in between bites of lasagna, “I’ve seen him – he’s small, has a ruddy face, and bright red hair. A friend who ate here not too long ago saw him too. He just came out from one of the cubicles while she was retouching her make-up.”

“Okay,” and Cosima abruptly turns to face me to grab me by the shoulders as Lyra laughs, “you’re coming with me to the washroom from now on...Do it for me please,” and I laugh at how adorable she is before giving her a peck on the cheek. “Laugh at me all you want, but please just say yes...Thank you,” she said when I nodded.

“There is another one right where we are, actually,” Lyra added as she helps herself with some tortellini. “It’s the spirit of an old tram conductor.”

“Of course he’s here,” Cosima sarcastically grumbled. “Does he walk around collecting tickets?”

“Non, no,” and Lyra swallows her food before scaring Cosima with some more details about the old ghost. “He just likes being here, at that table near the trolley entrance when the restaurant closes...” and the color on her face seem to have disappeared as soon she pointed to where the spirit of the tram conductor supposedly hangs out. She goes white, mouth agape – as if she’s seen an actual ghost.

“I’m not a ghost,” a familiar voice said. We all turn to face where Lyra is looking to see Gabi – a bit sweaty and looking windblown.

Lyra stood up from where she’s sitting and as if magnetized, she gravitated towards Gabi who dropped a small weekender bag on the floor. “Wha...Why are you here?” I heard Lyra say as everybody looked on to them.

“I was looking for Mom and Pops,” Gabi said and Lyra looks a tad disappointed, “to inform them that the wedding is off.” At Gabi’s words, Krystal reaches out to touch my hand from across the table. She seems to be bubbling with a hint of excitement, unlike Scott who’s scratching his head in confusion.

“Why?” Was all Lyra can say as Gabi reaches out to cradle her hands in hers.

“Because it’s always been you, Ly,” and Lyra’s face softens, as if a burden has been lifted off of her shoulders. “I’ve been trying in vain to convince myself otherwise, and I’m just so tired of running away from you...so I stopped. And when I stopped, I knew exactly where I needed to be. I ran all over town today actually – I went to your apartment, to school, and then...” Gabi was silenced as Lyra pulled her in for a kiss.

“Aww,” Krystal silently cheered while clutching on my hand and Scott’s hand. “Are you okay, Sweetie?” She worriedly asked her husband.

“O...kay...Got it...” Scott stammered as he looks to his wife who’s essentially melting at the sight of our daughters kissing inside the trolley.

“Please tell me you’re okay with this,” Krystal said to Scott, “look how happy they are...” And they did look happy, resting their foreheads together with smiles on their faces – the kind of smile you only give when something you’ve wished for all your life finally happens.

“Her work-wife just became her wife-wife...Right?” He asks.

“Sure looks like it...or at least that’s where they’re headed,” Cosima chimed in with a shy smile as she holds my hand.

Scott takes a gulp of his beer before answering his wife. “I’ll be fine...just let me get used to it. Oh and I expect grandkids,” he said looking at both Krystal and me.

“Oui, moi aussi,” and I place my hand on top of Scott’s outstretched hand, thankful that he didn’t react violently because he values his daughter’s happiness more than his confusion and unfamiliarity with the situation.

“Hey!” Krystal said while playfully swatting my hand away from Scott’s hand before grabbing him by the jaw to make him look at her in an almost cartoonish fashion. “Just so we’re clear – she’s work-wife and I’m wife-wife,” she jokingly reminded Scott with a laugh. He concurs by giving his wife a kiss.

“Ditto,” Cosima said with a nod as she holds my hand tighter. “Work-husband,” she said – pointing to Scott, “wife-wife,” and she points to herself.

“Duly noted, mon amour,” and I savor the words she just uttered with a smile.

\-----

Of the four of us, Delphine was the only one who’s completely sober by the time we finished dinner. She was pouring her first glass of wine when Gabi arrived at the restaurant unannounced and by that time, Scott already had three bottles of beer while Krystal and I were both halfway through our second glass. When Gabi and Lyra kissed, Delphine gave me the glass of red she was about to consume, opting to drink water for the rest of the night. Somebody has to step up to be tonight’s designated driver, she probably thought, which is why she now has the unenviable task of driving home to the ranch at night.

In an alternate universe where Gabi arrived just 15 or 30 minutes later than she did, we probably would have been too tipsy and sleepy after dinner - which means we would have stuck with the original plan of sleeping over at the apartment. Had that happened, instead of being huddled and snoring in the backseat, Scott and Krystal would be sleeping off the buzz in Lyra’s bedroom by now - leaving Lyra and Gabi with no choice but to awkwardly thresh out their new realities while their parents slept a stone’s throw away from where they are on the pull-out couch. But she arrived just in time, and as a result they now have the privacy to figure out what happens next. 

Timing really is a funny thing. There are days when everything unexpectedly works out with minimal effort; and then there are times when nothing right happens even if you’ve work from sun up to sun down to make things go your way. I guess it’s because none of us can really control everything that affects us - there would always be aspects of our lives that escape our attention. I can try to figure out what those uncontrollable things are, but that’s an exercise in futility. I guess timing is fickle simply because it’s highly dependent on one’s perspectives: what can be perfect timing for me may be the most inconvenient time for another, and vice versa. And in that perspective, the concept of timing becomes even more confusing.

It’s funny what alcohol does to my brain – the ideas it wants to parse while inebriated. Timing wasn’t on my side most of the time, and thinking about all the times that bad timing played a number on me is so overwhelming that I needed to get a hold of Delphine’s free hand as she navigates the twisty mountain roads leading home. I can’t hide the smile on my face while I feel her palm in mine, probably because we survived the most imperfect of timings thanks in part to life’s perfect little accidents. It’s the little things like in-growns and getting a glass of water that paved the way for our paths to cross again. And I take tremendous comfort in my reality that for as long as I’m holding this girl’s hand, timing and the universe can hit me with its absolute worst and I would still be stubbornly standing.

We finally arrive home after dropping off Scott and Krystal. Once inside, Delphine immediately traded her heels for her fluffy slippers. “I think I’ll stay down here for a bit,” I told her when she started climbing up the stairs and as I was removing my thin coat..

“Okay,” she replied and went down a few steps to give me a kiss. “I’ll see you in bed.”

The idea to make pouding chômeur tonight struck me when Delphine blurted out that she wished she had something sweet to go with the coffee she drank after dinner. I figured I can make it tonight as she sleeps and serve it cold tomorrow morning while she’s having her morning coffee. I wait for a bit to make sure Delphine would be in bed by making myself a cup of tea.

While I wait for the water to boil, I check the cupboards to see if I have everything I need: maple syrup – check, granulated sugar - check, flour – check, baking powder – check, and salt - check. I take out a measuring cup, a pot, a mixing bowl, a hand sifter and a baking dish from a kitchen cabinet before pouring hot water on my tea bag in a cup. I took a sip of my tea and went on to open the fridge to get eggs, butter, and milk. Another scalding gulp jolted me awake as I run the recipe through my head one more time before starting.

By this time though, making pouding chômeur has become second nature to me. Gone are the tentative movements and measurement of ingredients, replaced by confident and perfectly-timed ones thanks to practiced and sure hands. I butter the baking dish before keeping a close eye on the maple syrup boiling in a pot on the stove. I heed Lyra’s advice: to not fuck up the maple syrup _“because no matter how good the pudding is, all Maman will remember is burnt syrup,”_ I hear her saying in my head. It only takes a few minutes for it to boil before I carefully pour it in the buttered dish and set it aside for now. “Hard part’s over,” I mumbled as I put in the flour to the sifter to get a cup of sifted flour.

I then put all my focus in creaming the butter with sugar – which could be tricky, especially if done by hand. I pull out a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer and began dissolving the sugar into the butter by squishing it with the back of the spoon. With the sugar melding with the butter, I began to stir. Creaming the butter is the first thing I mastered in making pouding chômeur probably because it’s the most fool-proof of all the steps. “_You can’t overcream it,_” Lyra reminded me during my second attempt, and with the butter now in the right texture, I add the eggs. A few stirs later and I was adding the sifted flour, baking powder, and salt.

I finish off the batter by moistening it with milk. When it’s ready, I poured it onto the boiled maple syrup very carefully before sticking it in the oven for baking. After setting the temperature and the timer, I pulled out one of the dining chairs to sit in front of the oven to guard the pudding as it bakes. I down the rest of my tea and went on to make another cup when I saw a cookbook on a kitchen counter. I re-take my seat by the oven and went over the cookbook, dog-earing dishes that I know Delphine loves, and trying to memorize their names so I can ask Lyra about them.

There was only less than five minutes to go before it completely bakes when I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

“Cosima?” I hear her say searchingly. “Where are you? Why aren’t you in bed?”

“In here!” I said, already preoccupied with turning the pudding upside down on a plate.

“I thought I was dreaming,” and she walks to the kitchen, “but I smelled something cooking and...” She stops in her tracks when she sees the plate of pudding on kitchen counter.

“So I made you pouding chômeur,” I proudly said. “This is what Lyra and I have been up to,” and I grab another plate to give her a slice. “I remember you telling me about this and she told me that this is one of your favorites,” I take a healthy portion of pudding and place it on the smaller plate, “she taught me how to make it.”

Delphine is smiling but looks shocked as she takes a seat by the dining table. I drizzle her pudding with some maple syrup and decided to garnish it with some fresh berries that I saw in the kitchen just to counter the sweetness. “Do you want some tea?” I asked as I set her serving of pouding chômeur in front of her. She just nodded, still intently looking at the pudding.

“Lyra says you always order pouding chômeur when you eat out and it’s available...” and I open a chamomile tea bag and placed it in the mug before pouring the remaining hot water. “It’s quite simple to make once you get the hang of it...” and I sit down and handed her the cup of tea.

I watch Delphine’s every move from across the table. She takes a fork and she makes a face that conveys surprise and satisfaction as she cuts through the pudding. She puts it in her mouth and she chews with her eyes closed, as if opening her eyes is going to make it difficult for her to savor the dessert. She takes another forkful and eats it with a berry, “hmm, this tastes so good mon amour.” 

I smile, happy that all the kitchen tribulations of the past months have paid off. “I wonder why you never make it here,” I said as I take my own slice.

“It reminds me of a traumatic childhood memory,” Delphine said without any hint of emotions this time. “It was the last thing my Papa ate before he died...”

“Holy shit! Delphine, I’m so sorry...”

And then she was laughing and practically slamming a hand on the wooden dining table.

“I’m just kidding, chérie, I’m just kidding,” and she takes her plate and mug to seat beside me, offering me a kiss in exchange for her dark joke. “I never knew my father - I think I’ve already told you that.”

I nod, remembering how she first told me about her life in La Tuque when we were in the highlands. “So why don’t you make it? The least you can do is tell me after that prank...and after I slaved over the kitchen for many months just to learn how to make it,” I said as I take my first bite.

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug as she licks her fork before taking another bite. “Probably because it reminds me too much of Maman,” and she bit her lip. “She would make pouding chômeur when she can’t afford to make or buy a cake for my birthday or her birthday...”

“I know you miss her,” and I hold her hand because I can relate. We’ve both seen our mothers suffer, wilting away before our eyes at the cruelest of fashions before dying.

“She had to work so many odd jobs and we still just barely got by,” she said as she twirls her fork before eating another bite. “But as you know, it only needs simple, cheap ingredients so she would make it whenever she has time...Many plates of it in advance actually, so that there’s a sweet treat waiting for me when I get home from school or from playing outside. Whenever I’ve had a rough day, I can always count on Maman’s pouding chômeur to cheer me up.”

She suddenly goes quiet, and for a while I was worried that I burnt a portion of the pudding, or that I used too much syrup for her taste. “She stopped making it when she got sick of course...” she said in between bites. “But it remained her favorite and she would always ask for it after taking her medicines and especially after a particularly hard time at the hospital. The doctor advised her to stay away from sweets so I always had to say no to her...”

Delphine’s stories have always been rife with memories of her Maman. From what she has shared with me, I can tell that her Maman was a strong, beautiful lady who worked her ass off to give her daughter all of her needs and whenever possible, a few of her wants. She loved her so much that Delphine never felt the need to know her father for her mother’s love was more than enough. She would have been very proud of what Delphine has become, and she would have been very happy to have a granddaughter like Lyra. I’d like to think that she’d like me too or that we would get along had we met.

But this is the first time that I’m hearing about the last days of her life in detail. 

“One day after going home from the hospital,” Delphine continued after finishing her second serving, “I woke up to see Maman in my room. By that time, she was almost too weak to even get up from her bed.” I ask her with my eyes if she wants another plate of pudding and she nodded so I cut her a piece. “She said, _‘mon cœur, I’m craving for some pouding chômeur...’_ and I was so happy that I got up from bed, put on my robe, and immediately went to the kitchen to make her one.”

“I bet she loved it,” I said. I know it was a weak reply, so I put my hand around her shoulder, in the hopes that the combination of my words and actions would give her some comfort.

“She did,” Delphine answered while putting syrup on her pudding. “We finished the entire plate of pouding chômeur in under an hour – it was hot off the oven, but we didn’t mind.” She shifted in her chair and avoided my gaze, “a day later we were back in the hospital...and she never made it home. It was the last thing I made for her...”

“Come here,” I said as tears began to fall from her eyes and all I can think of doing is holding her in my arms, “I’m sorry, I just made a huge mistake making this...”

“Non, non,” Delphine looks at me and cups my face, “I can never make it without remembering that day. But there’s a reason why I always buy it - eating pouding chômeur, tasting it reminds me of the other days – the happier ones. The birthdays, Christmases, Thanksgivings, the ordinary afternoons of coming home to the comfort of a dessert especially made for you. Thank you,” she said and she pulls me in for a kiss, “thank you for making me happy, and for making me remember the happiest of memories.” 

And as we held each other with a half-eaten plate of pouding chômeur on the table, I realize that for the first time in my life, I am grateful for my lot in life – to love this woman and to make memories with her now and forever, and every day in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quip about the Latin graffiti is actually something a teenage Cosima did according to the The Classified Clone Reports by Dr. Delphine Cormier (which is actually an interesting read). 
> 
> Thank you again for everybody reading this, leaving kudos, and comments. See you next week!


	14. July 1984: Looking Back and Looking On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth about dividing this into two chapters before deciding to give you one giant chapter instead since the story is nearing its end.

Delphine has been fidgety since we got to Washington. She tried to hide it at first but the uncharacteristic nervy driving and the more frequent lip-biting have given her away. The first time I asked if she’s okay came an hour after driving off from the apartment: “I’m fine, mon cœur,” she answered. And because we have a long trip ahead of us today, I didn’t press any further even if I wanted to. Instead, I chose to let her smoke her cigarettes freely, figuring that she’d tell me eventually whether I pester her or not.

We park the truck in the airport, making sure that the bed is covered, the doors are locked, and the windows are all closed. We’re leaving the car for more than a week, and we had to make sure that everything’s in order, lest we want to deal with any hassles after a long trip. We were already half a kilometer away from where we parked when Delphine decided to go back to do one last check. She left her luggage with me and she walks away, reaching in to her pockets to light another cigarette.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked her when she came back.

“Oui,” she replied as she ties her hair in a ponytail. “Why won’t I be okay?”

“Nothing,” I said, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek after quickly checking if no one will see us, “you seem flustered, that’s all.”

“I’m fine,” and she forces a smile before picking up her luggage and urging me to walk faster. We arrived a little late than scheduled, held up by the traffic in the city and the unusual build-up at the border. Picking up the pace, we arrived at the check-in counter with time to spare. Delphine was in no mood for pleasantries as she hands our tickets and bags before saying a curt ‘_Thank you_’ to the young woman manning the airline’s counter.

It wasn’t until we’re inside the airplane when I figured out what’s wrong.

“Can I take your seat?” She requested, which I found odd because nobody trades a window seat for the one in the middle.

“Why?” I absently asked as I put our carry-on bags in the overhead bins.

“Just please take the window seat,” she said, a bit annoyed.

“You don’t like flying, do you?” I sheepishly asked as I scoot over my new seat. “Are you afraid of heights, is that it?”

“Non, non,” and she buckles her seat belt without being asked.

“If you’re scared, you can just smoke to calm the nerves or have a drink, no problem,” and I give her a forced smile.

“I don’t like to smoke or drink alcohol in trips like these,” and her eyes wander around looking at everything and nothing.

“Trips like these...” I said while looking out the window and trying to figure out what’s happening on the ground so Delphine won’t see me eye-rolling at her and her overall disposition this morning.

“Plane trips,” she added. “You don’t understand...” and there is slight panic in the tone of her voice as she dismisses my remark.

“Then make me understand!” I said a bit forcefully, her crabby mood obviously rubbing off on me. “I’m not the one who planned this trip!”

“I’m not the one who insisted on flying there. I wanted to drive...” and she trails off when the old lady sitting in front of us and the teenage boy on the aisle seat beside Delphine take sharp, curious glances our way.

“Are we seriously going to fight about this or will you just tell me what’s wrong?” I said, calmer but still insistent. 

“I get motion sickness in planes,” she said as she rubs her temples and the plane taxis on the runway, “so I’m sorry if you would have to take care of me 30 minutes into this flight when I’m throwing up the breakfast you insisted we eat.”

“Aww,” and by this time the irritation has been replaced by the need to calm her and take care of her. “You could have just told me,” and I reach out to hold her hand. “Don’t worry...I’ll take care of it.”

“How? Nothing works," she snarled. “I’ve tried everything – water, lozenges, smelling oils, drinking alcohol hoping to fall asleep...” and her body jerks as the plane continues to move. “And I can just imagine the wonderful first impression I’m going to make on your family– I’ll reek of vomit and I’ll look pale and sick...”

“Give me your hand,” and her brows furrow at my words. “Just,” and I yank her clammy left hand away from the armrest she’s gripping so I can entwine both my thumbs properly around it. I began massaging the top of her hand, focusing first on pressing and rubbing on the space between her thumb and index finger. “Sometimes,” I said as my thumbs trace the veins on her hands, “a hand massage helps get rid of headaches.” I repeat the same motions as she looks to me, as if unsure what to make of what I’m doing. “Motion sickness starts with a headache, so let’s see if I can stop that from happening.”

“Is it helping?” I asked as the plane accelerates towards lift off.

“Yes,” she said with a shy smile amidst the still-evident anxiety. The plane takes off as she sits straight and she closes her eyes. “It’s helping...the dizziness...It usually starts when the plane starts to climb.”

“Okay,” I said as I focus my attention on massaging her sweaty palm. “Just try to relax and let me take care of you.” I never thought that the things about acupressure that Shay endlessly talked about during our relationship would come in handy. Now, I can’t help but be thankful for that - not only because it’s soothing Delphine, but also because it’s giving me a reason to hold her hand in public – which soothes me.

I gently let go of her left hand and reach out to duplicate the massage on her right hand. I was so focused on trying to make her feel better that I didn’t immediately notice Delphine dozing off 30 minutes into the 3 ½ hour flight to Billings. “I’m right here,” I whispered still holding on to her hand as her head begins to rest on my shoulder. “I’m just right here.”

\-----

It’s almost 12 by the time I woke up. Cosima has her eyes closed but she continues to hold my hand, rubbing it with her thumbs as it lies on her lap. I can’t believe that it worked! I waited for the headache and dizziness to kick in a few minutes after opening my eyes, and when it didn’t I can’t help but exhale a sigh of relief. I’ve never felt okay after a plane trip, and with only less than an hour before we land, I’m hopeful that my first flight with Cosima would also be the first time that I would actually get off an airplane unscathed.

Visiting Buffalo was supposed to be my birthday gift for Cosima. It started out as a surprise road trip that I planned with Scott (who miraculously managed to block off a week in March for me), but it had to be quietly postponed when Cosima mentioned that she would be busier until the term ends since she’s helping with the student’s summer art exhibit. I picked another week in June, banking on her availability once the school summer break starts. Unfortunately, the want to surprise was overshadowed by the need to coordinate our busy schedules. I had no choice but to come clean when the trip needed to be pushed back again because she needed to see the exhibit from start to finish after she was put in charge of it at the last minute.

Although I was a bit disappointed that the surprise didn’t pan out, that feeling didn’t linger seeing how much going to Buffalo excited Cosima. It gave her something to look forward to, she said, when work got too stressful. As we plan the trip together and settled on a final date, I continued insisting on driving to Wyoming. “I know the road well and there are many sights to see along the way,” I reasoned. But Cosima was more partial to travelling by plane, “so that we have more time to spend on the actual vacation instead of wasting time driving to get there and get home.” I said I’d consider it, but then she got home from the city and surprised me with tickets, leaving me with no choice but to – as Cosima would say – just roll with it.

We left for Wyoming the day after the penultimate night of the students’ summer art exhibit. It was a great night for many reasons: for one, it was an amazing exhibit. I don’t know much about art even if I’ve been living with Cosima for months now, but I can tell that the students were able to creatively meld the visual and the performing arts together as the night showcased music and dance inspired by the paintings and photographs. The fact that this is the Department’s first student exhibit in three years added to the fanfare and excitement.

More than that though, seeing the students light up around Cosima was a spectacle all on its own. The way these kids respond and speak to her - how they hold onto her words and suggestions, made me feel proud for her. Lyra had told me briefly after her graduation that Cosima is becoming one of the more popular professors among students and fellow faculty members, but hearing about it and actually seeing it are two very different things. Pride swelled in my chest as student after student, professor after professor, congratulated her and approached her with ideas and insights. It made me forget about how nervous I was before the exhibit.

The night of the exhibit was the first time that Cosima introduced me to her students and colleagues either as her partner or her girlfriend. While I’m never nervous about being with her, I was unsure about how other people would react and how their reaction is going to affect her fledgling career as an academic. She has already given up so much when she moved to Canada that I don’t want our personal relationship messing up anything else in her life.

But as it turned out, I didn’t really have anything to be nervous about.

“Delphine,” Professor Chiosi who specializes in Eastern and Oriental Art said as he shook my hand, “it’s so nice to finally meet you. I have to say, the real deal is definitely better than the photo.” Later Cosima explained that during an earlier meeting in her office, the Professor saw the framed picture on her desk of me, her, and Lyra taken at the restaurant, and that he remarked how strong but delicate my face is. “Artists and their weird facial fixations...don’t worry, he’s cool – none of the stuffy ones are here,” she shrugged before giving me a kiss on my shoulder and moving on to tend to the participating students. It was easy for me to mix and mingle after that first introduction.

My nerves were also kept at bay during the student’s exhibit because of my animated discussions with Lyra and Gabi – who both looked all kinds of happy from my vantage point. After that night at the restaurant, they have decided to give their relationship a try, never mind the considerable distance between them. “We’ll deal with it,” Lyra said, “until I finish my master’s and transfer to UBC for my doctorate,” Gabi finished. She’s slated to return to Berkeley by the first week of August so they’re spending almost all their remaining free time together, making much needed memories in preparation for a long separation.

The nerves from last night are minor compared to the nerves today though. The prospect of getting helplessly sick while up in the air, combined with the eventuality of meeting Cosima’s family has turned me into an anxious and fumbling mess. “I just have to survive the ride,” giving myself a silent pep talk as we walked to board the plane, “then I can deal with everything else.” Cosima, who had asked me numerous times what’s wrong with me, seemed to have lost her patience when I remained evasive. When I asked her to take the window seat (because seeing the sky from my periphery will make my migraine bloom), I had no other choice but to tell her about the motion sickness – she’d find out once I start hurling the pancakes she made this morning anyway.

What she did next: grabbing my hand and massaging it, took me a bit by surprise. She goes through life with so much exuberance and intensity that sometimes I forget that she’s also so very capable of tenderness. Watching her as she holds on to my hand makes me want to pull her in for a kiss - to hell with the other passengers and flight crew’s reactions. But this is the first time she’s coming home to Paradise Ranch since her Dad passed away in ’75, and I don’t want to do anything that can derail our trip so I decided to stop looking at her, choosing to close my eyes to try to sleep instead.

“Hey,” she said when she opens her eyes, “how are you feeling?”

“Good,” I said and I gently grab her spotty eyeglasses with my free hand. I pull the hand she’s stroking to clean the smudges off her glasses with my cotton shirt. “There,” and I put the clearer glasses back on to her beautiful, caramel eyes.

“Thanks,” and she gives me that signature smile that I I’ve melted at since the first day we met as she gets a hold of my hand again to continue her massage.

“It’s the least I can do,” and I can’t wait to get back on solid ground so I can return her tenderness in kind.

\-----

I wasn’t so certain that my sister would actually show her annoying, know-it-all face anywhere near Buffalo up until this morning when she called collect. I was at home, pretending to tidy up the place, when the phone rang. I haven’t dressed yet – still expecting a last-minute “_I can’t make it, Sarah_” from her – until she told me that she and Delphine are actually in the airport waiting to board their flight.

“Remember,” she said while I panic a little because now I really need to clean around the house, “Northwest Orient Flight 754, Billings from Seattle. We land by 1 in the afternoon.” She still talks too fast even after all these years.

“Yah, yah, 754, I got it,” I said. “Take care.”

“You don’t sound excited to see me,” my sister mused. I almost didn’t hear her because of the chatter and noise at her end of the line.

“Show, don’t tell,” I snorted, “I’d be really excited once I see you and once you actually step foot on the ranch.”

“Fair enough...” And I can imagine she has a smile when she said that. “Our plane’s about to board, Bye!”

And I put down the phone and asked Kira and a couple of ranch hands to help me clean and set up Cos’ room in the house. “They must be hungry when they get here, Mom,” Kira said and she makes her way to the kitchen to check what she can whip up. Nobody was prepared for Cosima’s arrival. And nobody can blame us. Since we saw each other last - when we lowered Dad’s casket to the ground - she has stood us up so many times, reneging on her promise to visit and stay here for a bit year after year.

The last time she said she was coming home (that we actually took seriously and prepared for) was for Kira’s wedding last year. “Should I prepare for one or two people,” I half-asked, half-joked then, trying to figure out if she’s bringing the girl she’s with to Wyoming (Shay, is it? I don’t know, I just hear her voice sometimes when Cos calls). She just laughed the first time I ask, only for her to tell me a month before that she’s bringing her along after all. And then she had an art thing and couldn’t come home even if she wanted to. Maybe it’s a weird twin connection or whatever, but I can really tell that time that she wanted to be here for Kira. And I can also tell that she wanted to come alone...and be with someone else.

Since our last phone call, I’ve received several postcards and letters from her – each of them tells the story of what happened, what her life looks like now, and how everything feels right. In her last letter, along with an update about taking a teaching position and spending Christmas in Whistler (which looks like a great place to enjoy a cup of Irish coffee), she mentioned that she’s beginning to get along with Delphine’s daughter. “_Sarah, she’s letting me in_, _actually_ _confiding, and asking me for advice..._” she wrote, “_and I’m very nervous about it – what if I’m not cut out for this?_”

“Typical Cos,” I mumbled as I read her letter, always overthinking things instead of just letting it happen. I replied and wrote that the best thing for her to do is be a friend to her – _“start from there, see what happens”_, I remember writing. I went over my reply one more time before sending it out, chuckling at the irony of it all while putting on stamps. The prodigal twin (which is supposed to be me) giving what looks like sound parenting advice to the supposedly responsible twin.

I can still see her face when she suddenly showed up at my doorstep in Florida all those years ago. It was the perfect picture of misery: cloudy glasses framing tired eyes that are smaller and puffy from tears and lack of sleep; the once confident, carefree posture gone and replaced by a weak stance of someone who just wanted to disappear. She reeked of cheap rum, something she swigged at the back of the bus when nobody’s looking probably. “You look better than ever,” I said and she snorted. I didn’t have the heart to turn her away, or even ask what the hell she’s doing in Tampa.

I moved around a lot before settling in Florida and I had no idea that she even knew where I was. The letter she sent saying that she’s coming to see me was delivered two days after she arrived. In the letter, she said she got tired and bored of living in the ranch. She was explaining it to me – the story was detailed and convincing - but I didn’t buy it. My twin sister, whose favorite fashion accessory is wearing her heart on her fucking sleeves, got her heart broken again - that much was obvious to me. She didn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t ask who the gal was - and for all I know it could be Boring Ruth anyway (years later and I still can’t believe she went for a square like her).

I can only imagine how difficult Cos’ life was – still is – all because she’s different; all because she’s gay. I reckon that the names they called me (loose woman, prodigal daughter, hooligan, flake, selfish) are nothing compared to the hurtful words that came and come my sister’s way. Even back then in Tampa where people appeared to be more tolerant, the sheriff’s office was staking out bars and making trips to Anna Maria Island to spy on gay and lesbian activities. Beth, one of my first friends there, was one of the many caught in the act. She taught 4th Grade and she’s one of those people who genuinely enjoyed her work. She loved kids, and the kids gravitated towards her. When word leaked out that Beth is homosexual, she was pressured to resign by the same parents and school officials who used to regard her as the best thing that ever happened in their public school. She killed herself a few weeks after, overdosed in barbiturates...it was all too much for her, she said in her note. None of us can do anything but show up for her funeral.

So Cos getting her heart broken may have been for the best. It got her out of Buffalo before people suspected anything. If they found out, who knows when the inevitable snarls and insults would turn into actual physical harm? I figured that if it was Square Ruth who got her to skip town, then I owe her a thank you.

But four months into living with us, I found out that I shouldn’t be thanking Ruth for anything. One night while Cal went to Atlanta and I went out to drink with some friends, I came home to Cosima sleeping on the couch. I was so mashed and the world was spinning so I had to lay down next her. She said something in her sleep, I couldn’t make out what it was – it sounded like a name, it sounded foreign – but it was definitely not ‘Ruth’. A few months later, Cal managed to get Cosima a job at his parent’s printing press – and being the pesky sister that I always am, I couldn’t let her leave without asking about the girl who drove her away from home.

"_Her name is Delphine. She’s French...Canadian. We worked together...She’s a veterinarian...New in town, worked for Miss Violet. Dad hired her to herd sheep with me in the highlands. She’s tall, has blonde curls, and eyes that resemble a calm forest. I love her and I know she loves me too. But she’s married and she’s having a baby...I can’t be anywhere near Buffalo if I can’t be near her...”_

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” An old man asked me, pointing to the seat to my left. 

“Nah, go ahead,” and I remove my jacket from the chair. 

“I hate airports,” the man talked, “it makes me antsy...there’s just too many people. And the food and drinks are too pricey. I should have eaten my lunch at home or at that diner I saw on the way here. It’s also too cold here, and it’ll be too drafty in the plane...” Christ, what did I just say yes to? I’m not up for small talk – not when I have to reserve all the small talk I’m capable of with Cos’ girl. Okay, maybe if I just gave a little nod and a little smile, he’ll shut up.

Nope, it didn’t work. “Is this your first time in Billings?” The man asked me.

“Nah, look I’m just waiting for a flight from Seattle - quietly,” I said dismissively.

“Northwest 754? It landed 45 minutes ago at Gate 15.”

“What?!?”

“It arrived early,” while pointing with a mocking smirk to the flight board above us. “And you’re in the wrong wing – you should be on the other side of the airport. This...” - and he pointed to the nearest gate where we are sitting while he lectured - “is for Flight 754, leaving for St. Paul at 1:30 p.m.”

“Shit!” If I had the time to spare, I would have given him a piece of my mind (I don’t care if he’s old). Instead, I yelled out a “thank you” to the chatty man as I ran as quickly as I can. I don’t know how long it took, but by the time I got to the arrivals section, my hands are on my knees, I’m out of breath, I’m seeing red, I’m thirsty...

“Took you long enough,” and as I look up, I see my own face staring back at me. But I barely recognize it. It was a face I haven’t seen in a really long time – the last time I saw it was in early or mid 1950s. It was a happy face with an easy smile, reminding me of memories from many summers ago when we played tag while in the cabin with Mom and Dad. It was a peaceful face, a subtle hint of serenity and contentment in the eyes and corners of her mouth – the kind of face you unknowingly make for all the world to see when you’ve found your place under the sun.

I’ve never seen this face before - and I’ve never been happier to see it now.

“Would you believe I was waiting on a plane leaving for Missouri this entire time?” I huffed as I grabbed my sister for a hug. The woman travelling with her ducked away from view for a bit before coming back to us shortly with a cup of water. She offered it to me and I gladly took it.

“Oh...” and Cosima is blushing and smiling widely as I drank, “this is Delphine. Delphine, this is my delinquent younger sister, Sarah.”

“Enchantée,” and she offers me her hand this time.

“Younger by two minutes, you oaf,” I scoffed at my twin before shaking Delphine’s hand, and changing into a more polite tone for her benefit. “Uhm, enchanteyd,” and she smiles and I try to copy Cosima’s smile to mask how badly I greeted her back.

“Butchering languages runs in the family, just in case you wanted to know,” she snickered when I let go of Delphine’s hand. She playfully swatted my sister’s arm, though if I can have my way, I would arm-lock my obnoxious sister to the ground until she cries uncle. But I have a better idea to prolong her agony.

“It’s very nice to meet you, truly,” and I try not to scowl at Delphine because I meant it – it’s really nice to meet the woman making my sister happy. “And it’s nice that we get to talk finally. Walk with me,” and Cosima gives me the stink eye while I grab Delphine’s bag. “I have so many stories for you about my big sister - all the embarrassing, bring-it-to-your-grave kind. Feel free to ask me questions.”

\-----

Sarah certainly missed me – so much so that she seemed set on talking about me for the entire three-hour drive from Billings to Buffalo. “Has she ever told you about prom?” She started. “We had to borrow Ma’s old heeled shoes and Cos picked this black, glittery high-heeled sandals. We got to prom, it was all good. I spiked the punch and all. But Cos refused to get up from her table...”

“Because she can’t walk on high heels?” Delphine asks, rapt with my sister’s story.

“No, no, it’s because,” and Sarah guffaws, “the right sole completely separated from the shoe 15 minutes after we got there. It was flailing and waving about. She was begging me to switch with her, practically tried to sell me her soul for my shoe so she can walk and stutter around this paper shaker she had a big crush on. And when I didn’t, she had to bind the shoe together with a string she pulled out from the cheap carpet they rolled out in the gym. It was so funny...the string was white...I’ll show you pictures later.” And I join in the laughter. It was an embarrassing little story, but mostly innocent.

“Did she ever tell you about the night after graduation?”

“Sarah!!!” I protested, but that just riled her up.

“We ran in different circles, Cos and I,” she continued her story with more enthusiasm. “The night of our high school graduation she was out drinking with her friends, and I was out drinking with mine. I came home around 3 in the morning to get clothes for a last-minute trip to South Dakota – I planned on heading out once I got them. Cos was already there - drunk and slumped inside the truck. Dad came out, all angry and pissed, and my big sister replied by puking digested Cheetos all over Dad’s boots.” And Delphine snickered in the backseat. “Got us grounded because she can’t hold her drink,” Sarah added.

“You know this is why I don’t come home often, or bring someone with me,” I said amidst their laughter.

“Hey, you want me to tell Delphine why you never brought someone home with you? You want me to tell her all the pining you did back in Florida and Atlanta?”

“Sarah is the best sister ever,” I said to Delphine and that made her laugh too, making me forget about the slight ache on my neck because I turned to face her too abruptly.

“Okay, that works for me,” Sarah said when we crossed from Montana to Wyoming. “We have time, the stories can wait,” she then said to Delphine.

To get her to stop talking about me, I asked Sarah a bunch of questions about the ranch. “We’re doing all right,” she replied. “It’s making enough to keep it going.” She went on to talk about how several ranches near ours have already folded or have been sold to industrial farms. “Some of them closed because of diseases among the herd, but a lot of them closed shop or were sold because nobody was left to keep it running.”

“You know Delphine has a ranch too, mostly cattle, but maybe you can pick up something new from how they run things to make Paradise more sustainable,” I said and Delphine went on to talk about her ranch and how they switched to more organic methods. “You should really discuss this with my daughter, Kira,” Sarah replied to Delphine. “Honestly, what you’re saying right now is just flying over my head.”

“How is my monkey?” I asked as we reach Sheridan. “She’s doing great,” and the pride in my sister’s voice is unmistakable. “She’s practically running the entire circus now.” We exchange a few more stories about Kira’s wedding (“_it was simple and intimate, just family and friends – which is what she wanted._”); where they honeymooned (“_the bloody went to Key West, Cos. I was jealous..._”); and how Cal is doing (“_I think he’s surprised that he’s not bored at the ranch – we have so much to do all the time”_).

“Enough about me,” Sarah said after talking about the tractor that Cal is refurbishing with Kira’s husband. “How are you two? You have quite a story there.”

I look at Delphine through the rear view mirror and I can’t help but return her smile. Sometimes, I find myself looking at her and I still can’t believe how everything panned out thanks to some luck and good timing. “We’re doing great,” Delphine interjected, “it’s been nothing short of wonderful.”

And Sarah makes a face while nodding her head from side to side as she looks to the road ahead. “Really?” And she makes that face that has mocked me since we were kids. “You do know she’s messy, right? And that she’s totally useless in the kitchen unless she’s making soggy and thin pancakes that you have to douse in syrup to be edible and...”

“Non,” Delphine interrupts, “Cosima cooks – deliciously, if I may add.” And a smug smile forms on my face.

“Oh, that I have to really see to believe,” and before I can even take her up on the challenge, we turn to an exit and found ourselves in the middle of Buffalo. Delphine still has that shy, subtle smile on her face, but she goes quiet as she looks out and as Sarah drives towards Route 16. At that moment, I wish I can have an insight into her mind - I wonder if seeing all these familiar roads with me is just too overwhelming for a vacation.

“I have imagined this trip for quite some time now,” I heard Delphine say softly from the backseat. “Sorry,” she said, surprised that she said her thoughts for us to hear. “Every time I’m here for the auction, I’ve always had the urge to drive down to the ranch...”

“Why didn’t you then?” Sarah asked, and I glared at her. Not knowing when to shut up has always been my sister’s favorite mistake.

“I didn’t know if I was welcome. I didn’t know if I had anything left to drive towards to,” Delphine replied, “if there’s still someone to come back to...”

Sarah finally meets my gaze, albeit for only a few seconds, as if to communicate a wordless apology for prying. “Hey, for what it’s worth,” she then said to Delphine as we passed the Paradise Ranch sign that I drew when I was last here, “if you stopped by for a visit, I woulda offered you some iced tea.” And she puts the car in park. “And you’re here now, that’s what matters, yeah?”

I haven’t even stepped out of Sarah’s car when Kira began running towards us. “Auntie Cos!” I can hear her say even with the car windows up.

“Monkey!” And I open the passenger door as my niece leaps towards me to wrap me around her arms. “I missed you.” And as I hug her, I can’t help but look at the home I grew up in – how it managed to stay like I always pictured it to be, and how lucky I am to finally bring the only woman I’ve ever loved with every fiber of my being back home with me.

\-----

In the many years I’ve went to Buffalo, I’ve always pictured how overwhelming it would be to step foot on Paradise Ranch again. The urge to go here just to see how it’s holding up has always been there whenever I’m in town, and there was this one year – 1977 - when I actually made it as far as Mile 400 before stopping on the side of the road. I saw the ranch’s sign and I ran my hands over it, knowing that Cosima drew it because it had the dotted outline of our constellation Orion. I turned back after, tear-stricken and lonelier than ever.

Being here now is as overwhelming as I imagined it, but I think these are good emotions. Today in an alternate timeline where Cosima and I never saw each other again, I would be pathetically looking on from a distance – trying to catch a glimpse of Paradise Ranch while asking myself how an affair that barely lasted two months continues to have such a hold on me and my life. I would be driving back to that motel in Sheridan - opening a new pack of cigarettes once I get to my room while writing in my journal about how much I miss Cosima after seeing the few remaining places that connect me to her and to our summer.

Today in an alternate timeline, I would still be alone, finding only the smallest of comforts and contentment in how the corners of my life continue to be illuminated by the tracks Cosima left behind. But I’m here now with her - and thinking of all the things that could have easily happened has pushed me to hold her hand and give her a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“What was that for?” She asked me with a grin that I promised myself I will always try to elicit from her for as long as I live.

“Timing, averted disasters, second chances, ranch life, you – the usual.” And at my words, that grin I so love just got even bigger and brighter.

I was expecting Sarah to be rougher and harder to get to know, but that impression was washed away by every funny Cosima story she shared on the ride here. I get introduced to everybody as soon as we arrived. Kira is as beautiful, kind, and strong as Cosima described her. It was also very nice to be introduced to Cal who helped Cosima get back on her feet and on to a path that led her to her passion for the arts.

And the third person to be introduced to me is surprisingly someone I’ve already met.

“This is my husband, George,” Kira said as Cosima and I were resting and having coffee at the living room. “George, this is Auntie Cosima’s girlfriend, Delphine.”

“Hey I remember you!” He said as he wipes his hands on the side of his jeans to shake my hand, “the C10 with a faulty switch from Canada.” 

“The what now?” Cosima said to her niece’s new husband.

“I fixed up her truck for her,” George explained, “more than a year ago, I think. How’s the old girl doing?”

“It’s doing great,” I said, “I never got to properly thank you for helping me back then. So thank you.”

“Just doing my job, Ma’am. I knew you looked familiar,” and at that, Kira nudged George with an elbow. “How about I show you to your room?” She offered instead.

Cosima uses the restroom as Kira escorts me to a room at the far end of the hallway. “This used to be Aunt Cos’ room here,” she shared but my eyes are already focused on the paintings hanging on the walls: a painting of Cosima and Sarah’s parents; a sketch of the farm house; and the dandelion drawing that she told me about. As I looked at them, the overwhelming emotions return, but so did Cosima who embraces me from behind and gives me a kiss on my shoulder. In my periphery, I can see Kira looking at us with a faint smile on her face before disappearing from our view to give us some privacy.

Pretty soon, the house gets filled with the smell of food being cooked. At Sarah’s teasing, Cosima is helping Kira prepare tonight’s early dinner. As I was about to wear an apron, Cosima stopped me and insisted that I take a load off. But I’m surprisingly well-rested so instead, I excused myself and asked permission to walk around Paradise Ranch. Sarah nodded and just said that I should be back by 5 p.m. – “plenty of time for you to save your girlfriend’s sorry dish.”

I stepped outside and took a good look around. It’s still pretty much the same as the last time I was here – when I shared a cigarette with Ennis, making a flimsy excuse to leave my new address behind for Cosima. He saw right through the ruse – called me out on being in love with his daughter and not being able to do anything about it. I walked away then, gut-punched with guilt; far different from walking away now from the house and from the stories and laughter being shared over kitchen chores, amused and comforted by the fact that I’ll be back in an hour’s time. From a short distance I can see Cal and George tending to a truck, pausing for a bit to wave at me and ask how our trip was. I can tell that they needed to finish the repair before the sun disappears so after talking with them for a bit, I politely walked on and headed to the ranch’s barn.

The red barn behind the white house is still pretty much part of Paradise Ranch’s identity. It may be the white house that draws people in, but the barn is this ranch’s beating heart - sheltering almost everything needed and used to make this place tick. I walk over to the spot where the laboring ewe lied, remembering how that day altered the course of my life - the ironic sense of confusion and clarity that swept me when that girl sat beside me all those years ago and flashed me her smile for the first time. Cosima is the choice that life presented me – the choice I willingly made and took not because I have to but because I want to. While staying with her in the highlands in 1957 was out of my hands, I’ve always believed that I chose to love her whenever I can. I chose her until I cannot anymore not because I didn’t want to, but because I have to. Now, I’m making up for lost time by waking up every day, choosing to love her and be with her for as long as she’ll let me.

I wipe the tears from my eyes before getting up and walking towards the shed near the barn – still unpainted but still useful after all these years. The hat Cosima lent me still hangs on one of the hooks. I pick it up to wear it, finding it funny how an accessory can convey so many memories and emotions.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Sarah said as she walks towards me. “Cos is looking for you.”

“Does she need help with cooking?”

“Nah, she’s doing great. But don’t tell her I said that,” she snickered and I can’t help but remember the first time I saw a photo of her and Cosima – how Sarah’s smile seems more cynical than her twin’s. “My hat looks good on yah by the way,” she said, pointing to the hat that I’m still wearing.

“Oh, sorry,” and I put Sarah’s hat back on the hook. 

“Don’t be,” she said as she puts her hands in her pocket. “I meant to thank you - for coming here with her. I’ve never seen my sister so happy with anyone really.”

A pang of guilt ensnared my heart at Sarah’s words – making me wonder how much pain I’ve caused Cosima all those years ago and how much of it did Sarah had to deal with. The guilt turns into shame, making me say the words that have been at the back of my head since meeting Sarah at the airport. “I know I’ve caused her sadness...I’m sorry for hurting your sister...” My head is bowed and I didn’t notice that Sarah has already taken a couple of wooden stools and have sat on one while asking me to sit on the other so we can be face-to-face. She lets out a sigh before she spoke.

“Yes you did,” she said and I braced to hear how much she loathes me for what I’ve done that summer. Instead, she went on to say, “But sadness...I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“Pardon?” It was all I can utter as I search for an explanation.

“Maybe it’s just me,” she said with a small smile that reminds me of Cosima’s when we patch things up after a fight, “but people sometimes forget that sadness can be beautiful too. You see it with your own eyes all the time in her paintings. Those sketches of hers would have never left the cabin if not for you – they’d still be locked away in the dark, at the back of the closet, if you two didn’t happen.”

“I wasn’t the one who got her to art school, who gave her a fresh start,” I mumbled weakly.

“Yah, but you gave her something bigger than that,” Sarah said as she hesitates to reach out for my hand. “You gave her a glimpse of what her life could be outside the ranch. You made her think, made her feel, that there’s more to her life than believing that nobody would ever love her for who she is. You got her out of Wyoming so she can figure out her place in this world. And the sadness you caused came with all that – and to me, that’s beautiful. My sister is full of life’s happiness, sadness, and experiences, and I have you to thank for that.” Still hesitating, Sarah moves towards me for a hug. I couldn’t help but spill tears on her shoulder as she tries to hold her own tears in, only to be betrayed by a slight quiver of her shoulders. 

“Dinner’s ready,” another voice said. I open my eyes and see Cosima by the barn door with a confused smile on her face. We let go of each other and share a look of understanding, of forgiveness, as we head to Cosima.

“Hey, are you okay?” She asked me worriedly when she looks me in the eye. “What did you do?” She then asks her twin.

“We just got to talking,” Sarah said, “about you. You should be thanking me - I said only nice things about yah. Fabrications and lies of course, but I think it worked.”

Cosima snickers and Sarah laughs. It’s pretty obvious to me that the easy relationship she had with Ennis is something she also shared with her sister, even if they had their share of rough patches. “Good. I thought you were making moves on my girl,” Cosima joked.

“Don’t need to,” and Sarah smirks, “she already likes me better than you, anyway.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” and Cosima encircles her arm on mine. “And it’s a good thing that we’d be in the cabin for days - I can tip the scales to my favor without you meddling.”

“We’re going to the cabin?” I asked a bit surprised.

“Yah,” Sarah said, “that’s why George is busy tinkering with the four-wheel drive. We’ll have you back here in a few days.”

“We’re heading there tomorrow, and be there before sunset,” Cosima added. I look into her eyes and just like that, I don’t feel so alone in this world anymore.

\-----

On horseback, it would take five hours to get to the cabin so Sarah pushed for us to take George’s truck to the highlands. It only took a couple of hours of shaky driving to reach a path that’s too small for cars to traverse. We refused George’s offer to walk and carry our bags for us before hiking for about an hour. It wasn’t a surprise to me that the first thing we did when we finally got her is to clean ourselves up (in the newest addition to the cabin: a full toilet and bath) and hit the sack. We’re both naked as we slipped into the sheets, but the travel took too much out of us and for now, we had to settle for warm and electric skin-to-skin contact.

I woke up hours later to Delphine’s bare back and just like all those years ago, I find myself being magnetically pulled towards tracing the beauty marks with my fingers and lips. I was almost finished connecting the dots to form our Orion when I felt Delphine stirring before she turned to face me. “I still don’t get it mon amour,” she sleepily whispers as she touches the tip of my nose, “what do you see in my moles that seem so beautiful?”

I kiss her senseless as I stroke her back with my hand before answering her question. “It’s part of what makes you you,” and I kiss her again – more passionately, intending to make her feel my urge to make love to her. It’s been a busy past couple of months for us and it has been a while since we last had sex. “I’ve missed running my hands and lips on your beauty marks in all those years we were apart,” as my palms caress her waist and hips.

“I miss you,” she said in between pauses from our frenetic kisses as she swings her leg and emerge to sit on my hips. Her hair is mussed and her eyes are still twinkling with sleep – but she has never looked more beautiful.

She leans down to once again capture my lips with hers as my hands greedily roam around her breasts. Amidst the bliss, memories of the first time we had each other this way play in my mind. It can’t be helped – it happened in this very room. “_Don’t start this,_” I remember pleading with her when she entered my room that night - dazed but coherent after partaking in my Dad’s moonshine by the fire. “_If you do, I won’t be able to stop,_” and true to my word, I never really stopped – thinking of her, loving her, or wishing for her – then, now, and all the years in between.

“Come up here,” I said now as I feel her wetness on my stomach. For a few seconds, she was confused by what I meant so I grab her by the waist to help her up. Finally understanding what I wanted, she sits on my face – my lips only a few inches away from the junction of her thighs. She lets out a shaky breath when I started kissing the heart of her femininity. She holds on to the headboard for support as my hands that were holding her waist has now traveled south to take care of my own want and longing. The sounds she’s making, the moisture on my cheeks, and the way her face conveys her pleasure at my ministrations has made my fingers flick incessantly at my own nub.

She opens her eyes and looks behind her to see what I’m doing. She continues to move against me, but I feel that she has something else in mind. She very carefully turns around, making sure to not hit my face with her long legs, and with her back in my view again I can’t help but run my hand to the beauty marks that have engulfed my dreams then and now. It wasn’t long before she made her intentions clear by lying flush against me so that she can mimic what I’m doing to her to my own pool of wetness.

“Christ, Delphine,” was the last words on my lips as I regain my wits and hold on to her so I can finish what I started.

Uncorked and very satisfied, I crawl to where she is on the foot of the bed. She seems to mirror what I’m feeling as we taste each other on our lips. It wasn’t long before we fell asleep again, Delphine’s bare chest serving as my pillow.

I am alone the next time I woke up from this bed, the world suddenly blurry and cold without Delphine by my side. I settled for getting my glasses on the bedside by my foot before putting on a robe that I got from the overnight bag I brought for this trip. I step out of the room and find the love of my life making us dinner. “I hope you don’t mind baked beans and bread for tonight,” Delphine said and I hug her from behind while she heats up the beans. “I don’t mind,” I said, “but do you fancy eating by a fire outside...you know, for old time’s sake.” And she smiles at my suggestion and nods. I quickly got back in the room to change into something more weather-proof before heading out to the pit to start a roaring fire for us.

With a fire going, Delphine comes out with two plates of food. I headed inside to grab us something to drink and as I open the cupboard, I see Dad’s old mason jars that used to contain his precious moonshine. It was empty now so I got us a bottle of wine and two coffee cups instead. I sit down next to her, pouring us some wine before eating our simple dinner.

We exchange looks as we sit by the fire, probably overwhelmed at the gush of memories that this cabin manages to stoke inside us. The memories from our summer and the experiences of the past months has made me realize that the woman I knew then (the one I fell madly in love with), and the woman I know now (the one I still love and chose to spend all my remaining tomorrows with) is one of the strongest woman I know – probably only second to my own mother. Even though we spent so many years apart, to me she has always been both a fortress and a salve - beaming with a sense of subtle grace and quiet but unconditional love that prove to be the softest source of reprieve and comfort in both good and trying times. I’ve already spent over 20 years of my life without her by my side, and I can no longer imagine or accept not spending the next 20 without her.

“Hey, where did you go?” She asked me as she strokes my cheek.

“I’m right here,” I said, “I just got to thinking, that’s all.”

“It’s hard not to think, not to remember given our location,” she said and she bites her lip.

“Did you know you love me when we first kissed here?” I asked her without thinking. “Or did you kiss me because we were drunk and you hoped we won’t remember the next day?” I know there’s too much angst and insecurity in that last bit, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying it.

“I knew,” and she reaches out to take my hand. “The first time I admitted it to myself was that night when we fought about your sketches. But to be honest, I think I felt it before that.”

“When did you know that you love me?” I asked as I play with her fingers in my hand.

Delphine takes a sip and I reach out to remove a small wine stain that formed on the corner of her mouth with my thumb. “Would it be foolish if I say that I think I felt it at that moment when you sat beside me in the barn by the ewe?” I shake my head. “I felt it then. I felt it when I stayed for breakfast with you and Ennis. It was there when Christophe drove me to the ranch. I felt it when you lent me Sarah’s hat. I was saying your name, testing how it would feel on my lips, when we were climbing to the highlands. I even felt it when I first had a gulp of your bad black coffee. I thought to myself that I wouldn’t mind drinking bad coffee for the rest of my life if it was you who made it.”

I couldn’t stop myself from kissing Delphine when she gets romantic, hoping that the simple brush of lips will make her know how much she means to me. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said when our lips parted, “did you love me even when we were apart?” The months we have spent getting to know each other again were rife with details about what our lives looked like since the last time we saw each other, but we almost never talked about how we felt for each other during those times when she was with Christophe and my bed had its fair share of occupants.

“I really tried not to and sometimes it worked,” I said choosing to be honest, “but I allowed myself one day every year to burst with love for you. The dandelion drawings are the products of that love.” She wipes tears that I didn’t even know was already there. “And I didn’t admit it then, didn’t want to, but the certainty of that day – of December 21st – was the only tonic that proved to be effective whenever I found myself feeling down, useless, and on the verge of quitting art altogether. I don’t know if I can categorically say that I continued to love you in all those years that we weren’t together. But I know for certain that for the longest time, December 21st was the silver lining of my life.”

She holds me close and kisses the side of my head. I’m just very relieved that words didn’t hurt her. “Thank you for the gift of coming home with me, Delphine,” I murmured. “I love you so much. Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I love you too, Cosima. I will never leave you. Je promets.”

\-----

Waking up late without having to tend to cattle, the animal clinic, and all the other concerns in the ranch feels liberating. But that feeling has nothing on the feeling of waking up with Cosima in my arms. It still feels like a dream sometimes, and I had to kiss her all over her back and neck just to make myself believe that this has been my life for quite some time now. My new realities invigorate me to get up, start work, and finish early so I can spend more moments with the woman I love.

But with no work to do today, I give my lover one more kiss before getting up to make us breakfast. I had an idea in the middle of frying sausages and I can’t wait to ask Cosima if she’s up for it.

“You’re serious?” She asked after chewing her bread and downing it with a gulp of tea.

“As a heart attack,” I retorted, copying the way she said it to me a month ago when I asked her if she seriously wants to travel by plane to Wyoming. “Sure. We’re here, let’s do it,” she said when she saw the smile on my face.

While she continued eating her breakfast, I finish my plate so I can pack a small backpack with the things we will need for today – drinking water for the two of us, towels, sunscreen, a change of clothes, our camera, and a map and compass just in case. I went back to the kitchen to grab a box of cookies on the counter and prepare a couple of sandwiches that we can eat if we get hungry from all the jogging that we will do today.

With the bag ready, I went on to change, making sure to wear light clothing over my bathing suit so I don’t get too overheated while hiking. In the entire time I was changing, it seems that Cosima was standing by the door. “Damn,” she said as she removes her robe to dress up. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I can ask myself the same question mon cœur. I’ll see you outside,” and I lean in for a quick kiss.

The hike to the cliff was more challenging than I remembered. Even Cosima, who has gone there since she was a little girl, is catching her breath. “We’re getting old, Cormier,” she said when we took a rest stop an hour after setting off for the cliff.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, confident that the daily ranch chores have prepared me for the hike up the cliff.

“You know what,” she said as she resumed walking while I hold her hand in mine, “I’ll help out more in the ranch next time. And I’m going to bike around the University once the new term starts. I need to get back in shape. I wouldn’t want to drop dead on you,” she joked.

“You better not die on me, Niehaus,” I mused, “I’m serious.”

“As a heart attack?” And we laugh. My Cosima is still cheeky after all these years, and I love her more for it if that’s even possible.

We reach the edge of the cliff and took a good look around us. It’s still as beautiful as I remembered it and unlike the first time I was here, there is no fear and hesitation this time. Though I wish I can say the same about Cosima.

“You sure you want to do this?” She asked, taking a peek down and then letting out a nervous whistle.

“Whatever happened to the fearless, I’ve-done-this-since-I-was-a-little-girl, brat that asked me to jump with her 27 years ago?!?” I said as I remove my thin white shirt and black cargo pants.

“She just turned 51 a few months ago,” she quipped, “and she has more to live for now that she’s shacking up with the love of her life. So excuse her for being nervous.”

“Come on,” I said and I reach out to hold her, “fall with me, Cosima,” and we’re as close as ever as I rest my forehead on hers.

“I think I already have at first jump. Way before that really...” And she kisses me gently before taking off her shirt and pushing down her jeans. “Remember,” she said as she re-ties her dreads tightly, “breathe, squeeze your butt together, feet first, and try not to do a belly-slap.”

“Of course,” I said with a wink as she extends her hand for me to hold. “Ready?” And I nod, bolder than ever. “Here we go,” she said, “3, 2, 1!” And just like that, Cosima and I are 24 and 23 years old again, falling into the water, letting gravity take over, deadset on not losing my connection with this woman by holding on to her hand.

We hit the water with our feet first, the adrenaline coursing through our veins insulating us from our nerves and the icy cold water on our skin. This jump, while from the same height and from the same point, is completely different from the first time. Gone are the uncertainties and the silent wondering of how it would feel like to be separated from her once the summer ends. Taking their place is the feeling of security, contentment, and love brought out by the personification of what I could only imagine and silently wish for the first time we were here – Cosima beside me with salt-and-pepper hair, with a smile that emphasizes the laugh lines and crinkles around her eyes while enjoying a cup of burnt coffee on the porch. Us growing old together now within our grasps.

My thoughts are sentimental and sappy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun at Cosima’s expense. I stay submerged in the water, making sure that she comes up for air first. I can see her legs dangling, trying to stay afloat as she turns. The sound she was making is muffled when heard from underwater, but I can sense the panicky tone with every shout of my name.

“Delphine?!? Delphine?!? Goddamit!” I hold my breath until my lungs began to scream for air.

“Yes chérie?” I said once I resurfaced.

“Did you just...? You did didn’t you? Fuck, don’t scare me like that!” And she flicks me with a small wave of water before swimming to a rock and pulling herself up to sit and sulk.

“You found it funny when you were the one doing it to me 27 years ago,” I said as I swim to where she is. “Come on, don’t be mad at me,” I said as I join her on the rock, sitting in the portion a bit above her, “though it’s nice to know that you care so much.”

“Who’s the cheeky one now?” She said with a small scowl. “I lived for 26 years without you, I don’t think I can live another year without you.” And I can tell that my prank has been forgiven when she reaches out for my hand so she can wrap them around her. “Don’t you dare die on me, Cormier.”

I was about to tease her some more, when something behind her caught my eye. “It can’t be...”

“What?” And all I can do is point to a faded pointed heart and the words _Summer 1957_ drawn near the base of the cliff as Cosima shifts to face where I’m pointing.

“It never faded,” Cosima uttered, mirroring my disbelief at the unexpected discovery.

“It sure didn’t,” and I rest my chin on her head, unable to stop smiling at the prospect of a lifetime with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line “Don’t start this. If you do, I won’t be able to stop” is a direct quote from Transhumance. Please give it a read - it's a wonderful story by tumblweed.
> 
> I want to thank you for reading this long chapter. I'm not sure if I made a mistake by not dividing it, but I've already finished it and saw no point in delaying the story. Please share your thoughts and feedback. And to those commenting, reading, and leaving kudos, my utmost thanks to you for the support.
> 
> See you in the next chapter! :)


	15. The Adventures of Cowgirl Cora and Diana

“Whoa!!! They just jumped?!?! That’s crazy! They’re crazy!!! I want to be like them! How high was it again?!?”

“It was very high, Monkey!” I enthusiastically answered as I tell a story, “about...oh I don’t know, 16 meters?” He has a faraway and concentrated look - and I can see the gears in his head turning when those words came out of my mouth. I think he seems to be doing some kind of mental arithmetic, trying to figure out just how high 16 meters can be.

“16 meters...” And he continues to try to quantify it with his fingers. “Just how high is that, Grammie?”

“You guys live in the fourth floor, right? Imagine looking down below from your balcony - that is about 16 meters,” and his eyes widened at the realization of just how high it is. It’s an exaggerated estimate and I am not sure telling my grandson about it is safe or responsible – he might give it a try when he goes back home with his parents after the holidays. “Now, Lory, don’t go jumping off from the balcony, you hear me? I’ll take you to Cowgirl Diana and Cowgirl Cora’s cliff when you’re older. And you can do all the crazy jumping into the water and swimming you want from there.”

“You promise, Grammie Cos?” Lory said and I nod while he offers me his pinkie.

“I pinkie promise,” and I curl my smallest finger around his. Still beaming with excitement, he goes for an enthusiastic hug and as I envelop him in my arms, I ruffle his wavy blonde hair and give him a kiss on top of his head.

“When are we going to the cliff?” He said as he lets me go to sit on the middle of his bed. “We can go tomorrow! I just turned 10 a few weeks ago! We can ask Uncle Mark to drive us to the river just outside the ranch!!!” He’s literally bouncing on the bed at the possibility of turning my bedtime story into reality.

“No, you have to be way older for that,” I said, “and it’s not just any other cliff – Cowgirl Diana and Cora’s cliff is special, very different from all the other cliffs in the world.”

“Really?!?!” And Lory’s attention shifts back to the story I was telling him. “How is it different?”

“Well, you see, it has a unique drawing near the base. No other cliff has it - so when you see the marking you’ve found Diana and Cora’s special cliff.” And the gears in my grandson’s head continue to whirl as he processes the new detail of my story.

“You’ve never told me that before!” He said and he makes the same face Delphine makes when I surprise her with gifts, be it little or big. “What’s the drawing? What’s the sign?!?”

“It’s a slightly-faded red pointed heart,” I tell him, “with the words Summer 1957 written below it. If you find that, then you have found Cowgirl Diana and Cora’s special cliff.” Lory takes in my words, trying to file it to memory. As he marvelled about the crazy but brave antics of Diana and Cora, I can’t help but wonder if Lory will even remember this story when he grows up. But that really doesn’t matter; for as long as he remembers how much we love and cherish him, that’s more than good enough for me - even if he goes on to forget our stories.

“I can’t wait until I’m older,” Lory exclaimed - the impatience and annoyance evident in his cute little face, “so we can jump from the cliff, Grammie.”

“Now hold on,” I said in an effort to appease him, “we can’t do anything about the age, mister. But who’s to say we can’t practice our cliff jumps now?” And with achy joints, I try to stand on the bed and jump. It worked as Lory extends his hands for me to help him up. “Come on, Monkey! Show me how you will jump!” And he squeals with glee as we hop on the bed.

\-----

“How are you and Gabi?” I asked Lyra who called me on my cellphone just as I was about to climb up the stairs after cleaning up in the kitchen.

“We’re fine, Maman,” she huffed and without her saying anything, I can tell she’s tired from the jetlag and from the time zone difference. At the last minute a few days ago, Gabi hopped on a plane to attend an international conference on Animal Genetics in Tokyo when the colleague who was supposed to go suffered a broken leg in a traffic accident. By that time, Lyra was already in Hong Kong for a work trip and she decided to fix her schedule so she and Gabi can rendezvous in Tokyo and go home together on the 24th just in time to spend Christmas at the ranch with the entire family.

“How is the last-minute honeymoon trip going?” I jest. Although they have been together for 20 years now, they just got married a month ago after the laws have finally allowed it. Both have been too busy with Lory and with their respective work that they had to delay a long-awaited honeymoon.

Lyra laughs at the other end of the line, the kind of shy laughter that conveys how everything is going well in spite of the typical haste and hurry that comes with everyday life. “Today is the last day of the convention, Maman. And Gabi promised a no-work honeymoon starting tomorrow,” she said.

“I bet it’s going to be wonderful,” I replied and I can picture her smile even though we are many, many miles apart. I have no doubt that Gabi will stay true to her word because she has done that over and over again since she got together with my daughter. As she promised, she relocated to Vancouver and took her PhD in UBC after finishing her Master’s. She began to work with a big pharmaceutical company after school, but she knew she wanted to do something more meaningful. Eventually, with enough money saved, she and a group of scientist friends established a start-up that aims to curb animal drug testing by creating the technology needed for accurate bio-simulation modelling. They recently got a bio-tech company based in Japan to invest in them and to try out their prototypes. It’s a lucrative deal that buys them a lot of time and resources to turn their visions into working realities.

Lyra stayed true to her course as well as she went on to become a clinician and a virologist. Her unique background and experience in the laboratory and in the hospital setting has gotten the attention of the World Health Organization, who head-hunted her into taking a job that makes hospitals all over the world safer and more equipped to handle quarantine and contamination procedures and protocols. She is often away for work and it’s a good thing that the support system back at home understands how much she values what she does and the extensive travel it entails.

“How is Lory, Maman? I hope he’s not giving you and Cos a hard time,” she mused.

“Non, non,” I said, “Lory is fine. He’s getting ready for bed. Is it just me or is he getting bigger every time I see him?” And Lyra laughs again.

“Give him a kiss from us. And tell him he has so many gifts to open when we come home.”

“I will,” I said, “oh, before I forget – can we buy him some sparklers for New Year’s?” I asked because Cosima is already ready to buy him a box of fireworks when we were in town this afternoon. “Just a little something to welcome 2005,” I added because like Cosima, I was also ready to buy him anything he wants.

“I suppose fireworks are fine, Maman,” Lyra said. “Just don’t let him use it before New Year so we can supervise him.”

“Fair enough, ma poulette. I love you, have fun!” And she tells me goodbye because she’s about to head out to join Gabi in the convention. 

Lory is, without a doubt, one of my life’s best surprises. I have to admit that I wasn’t that shocked when Lyra and Gabi told us many, many years ago that they do not plan on having children - “it would be too hard, too complicated,” they said. From my standpoint, the decision was a practical one – both of them would naturally want to have a child that will be recognized as theirs and they both want rights and a legal say to their child’s well-being. And that’s not possible because as far as the laws are concerned, they are not each other’s spouse.

Just as I was getting okay with the idea of never becoming a grandmother, the practical reasons that Gabi and Lyra held on to got relegated to the backseat as the sentimental reasons eventually took over. “Biological or not, rights or no rights,” I remembered Gabi saying when they told us that they’ve been working with a fertility specialist and have decided to try IVF before seriously considering adoption, “our kid is going to be so loved and so cherished. And nothing will get in the way of that – certainly not a piece of paper.”

After almost two years of trying, Lyra got pregnant and come Christmas 1994, the family has welcomed its newest, littlest member. Our holiday photo that year is nothing short of magical – Cosima and I are in the middle, and Lyra is carrying Baby Lory beside me. A beaming Gabi is standing next to Lyra as she gently clutches on Lory’s little foot. Mark has his hands around his sister and his wife. Beside Cosima are Krystal and Scott who each has a grandson in front of them, wrapped in a loving embrace while holding the gifts they chose to open before dinner. A well-decorated Christmas tree glows softly in the background.

That picture has been developed, reproduced, and framed countless of times. Framed copies of that photo hang in our house, in Cosima’s studio, and in Krystal and Scott’s home. It’s also on Cosima’s desk in the university and a wallet-size copy is pinned inside the sun visor of Mark’s pick-up beside his own family picture. A bigger version is displayed prominently in Gabi and Lyra’s apartment in the city. The picture is inside our wallets and snapshots of it are in our phones, ready to be easily shared to anybody who asks about our families. And while the reaction when we show it to other people varies from happy surprise to feigned understanding and acceptance, I always take comfort in the easy smiles etched in all our faces and the priceless genuineness that gives the photo a deeper layer and meaning. Bigotry, no matter how pointed and vile, cannot dampen the memory of that day.

But the photo - no matter how great it is - doesn’t capture even an inch of the overflowing happiness that comes with actually living that life every day. It doesn’t compare to the quiet but meaningful welcome home kiss from Cosima; the little sounds that Lory makes when he eats his favorite cereals; Krystal’s laughter when Cosima tells a funny joke; how Scott and I have a shorthand with each other when treating animals in the clinic; Lyra’s stories about her work and travels; Gabi’s enthusiasm when discussing Halloween costumes for Lory; Cosima’s family coming to the ranch for a visit. All these and more have enriched my life in ways I couldn’t even describe or imagine. 

I reach the top of the stairs and I hear faint noises coming from Lyra’s old room where Lory stays in when he’s here at the ranch. The sounds get louder as I get near the door where I hear the squeaks of the bed getting drowned out by the high-pitched squeals of laughter and delight from two sets of voices. I close my eyes for a second to listen to the soothing melody of the life I choose to lead.

“You are supposed to be putting him to sleep, mon amour,” I said as I enter the room, trying to scold but ultimately failing as the sight of them playing makes me laugh. Being caught red-handed doesn’t faze Cosima one bit as she urges Lory to jump even higher, to which our grandson happily obliges. The cowboy hat he wears almost every waking moment has been dislodged from his head as he jumps and tries to touch the ceiling with his outstretched hands.

“We’re practicing jumping from the cliff, Mémé!” Lory managed to say in between quick breaths.

“Hop on,” Cosima urged complete with a wave of her hand, her glasses now askew from jumping on the bed. I would have given a substantial amount of money to see her jumping on the bed with her trademark dreads, but her hair in a pixie cut doesn’t diminish her beauty, her light, one bit. I remember when she came home after getting her new hairdo – how the surprise didn’t faze me from immediately liking the change as I ran my fingers through it.

“Another time, perhaps” and I try to find a place where I can safely sit without a leg or a foot hitting me on the face.

“I told you,” Cosima speaks to Lory this time, “Cowgirl Diana is afraid of jumping off the cliff,” and they both snicker.

At those words, I quickly forgot about sitting and proceeded to stand on the bed to join them. “Cowgirl Diana is no chicken,” I said to defend myself. “And you probably didn’t tell him the story of Cowgirl Cora and Diana’s second trip to the cliff – when Cowgirl Cora was the one so terrified to jump.”

“No, Grammie didn’t,” Lory answered, “can you tell me that story?”

“Only if you lie down and drink your milk,” I said and Lory being the sweet boy that he is takes one last jump before landing on his backside to sit and lean on the bed’s headboard.

“Hold it, hold it,” Cosima exclaimed as she clutches on her hip while coming down from the bed, “I’ll grab the milk. Don’t you start the story without me – I would want to defend Cora’s honor,” and she gives Lory a kiss before picking up his cowboy hat off the floor and putting it back on to his head. I was about to ask where my kiss is when she gives me a smack on the top of my head before heading out with a smile.

“So, mon petit prince,” I said and I playfully tip his nose, “are you ready for my story?” And Lory clutches on to his binky - his favorite Toy Story blanky - as he nods. “It happened 30 years ago. Cowgirls Cora and Diana have not gone back to the highlands in over 27 years. They travelled from the lowlands and hiked to the cliff...”

\-----

I realize as I heat Lory’s milk in the microwave that we are essentially running out of new stories to tell him and that pretty soon, we’d have to rely on the stories in the books that Lyra kept in her room. And before we know it, Lory will become a teenager and hanging out with old biddies like us would be the farthest thing on his mind. Sometimes, I wish I can make the hands of time stop from turning so we can just be here, basking in the beautiful memories of a quiet life with Delphine and our families. But then again, there is no reason to hold on to memories because I’ve been generally lucky in life and I couldn’t wait for the surprises that await us at every turn and corner in the days and years to come.

So we live for the now, the oh-so-sweet present – in a world where our grandson enjoys hearing stories of two badass women who happen to be cowgirls. The idea behind the Adventures of Cowgirl Diana and Cora actually came from Krystal who, in an effort to make Lory stop watching the Toy Story movies over and over again, told him about the story of two cowgirls who can give Woody and Jessie a run for their money. “Why watch about cartoon cowboys and cowgirls when you have two living cowgirls right here in the ranch?” She teased him.

Come the next day when Krystal dropped him off at our house, Lory couldn’t even sit still for a simple portrait because he kept asking me about the story Grandma Krystal told him about two cowgirls herding thousands of sheep up the mountain. “Grandma Krystal forgot their names and said that you knew them – the two cowgirls who had many adventures together,” he said and that’s when I told him about Cowgirl Cora and Diana being more than just cowgirls. “Cowgirl Cora also paints and Cowgirl Diana is a veterinarian,” I said, “and that’s why they are awesome – they’re more than just their adventures.” From that day on, we’ve told him so many stories about them - about us really.

The phone in my pocket dings softly. It’s a text message from my TA, Ava, telling me that she just finished doing the paperwork for the Art Apprenticeship Program for the summer term next year. She said she left it on my desk and that it needs my signature before being sent out to the Dean and to the university by the first week of January. She wished me and Delphine Happy Holidays while also informing me that she’ll be back from visiting her hometown a week after classes start. I thank her for her hard work and reminded her to inform the 20 students handpicked for the apprenticeship to send in their requirements before the deadline.

I take pride in the fact that over the years, the Art Apprenticeship Program has transformed from a chore no other professor would willingly touch to a cool and prominent program that links aspiring student-artists with established ones. It started with me working with Raj – who’s now a wildlife photojournalist - before it snowballed into two apprentices working with me and Gilbert who ran the post-modern gallery in the city. Eventually, I dug deeper into my contacts – mostly friends from San Francisco and New York like Paule and artists and critics I worked with who were interested to impart whatever knowledge and skill they have to those who are just starting out. The program has become bicoastal and other universities have shown interest in working with us or knowing more about how we run things. And with new professors believing in the value of the apprenticeship program (having participated in it when they were still students), I have no doubts that it would continue when I retire - whenever that may be - though I think that it would come soon as I’m now enjoying a more relaxed and less demanding teaching load.

While I took to teaching like a duck to water, it took a while for my own artistic endeavors to take flight in Vancouver. But somehow, through word of mouth and the support of old friends and former clients, the sales of my works eventually picked up. With some money saved and with some help from Delphine and Lyra, I managed to open a small art gallery in Davie Village that showcases not only my work, but the work of local artists and students. We also got some funding from the government which we use to hold free weekly art classes for underprivileged kids.

In spite of my commitments, I make sure to spend most of my time here in the ranch with Delphine - spending a lazy day reading, painting, drinking bad coffee on the porch as Mount Currie looms large from a distance. Once in a while, we go on vacation with Scott and Krystal. Sarah and Cal (who are now living in Florida) also pops in for a visit, but Kira and her family make it a point to stay here at least once a year. Over the years, Delphine, Scott and Mark are only happy to help Kira transform Paradise Ranch by adopting more sustainable and organic practices. Paradise continues to thrive and I know wherever they are, Mom and Dad are happy that we found a way to keep it going all these years.

The microwave beeps and I carefully take out the mug for it to cool before I take it up to Lory. I look at the photos hanging on the wall, of the snapshots of the 20-plus years’ worth of memories with Delphine, and realize that it wasn’t too long ago when I have made an uncomfortable peace with the then-looming reality of always loving her but never having a chance at a future with her. I was 49 years old then and I thought I’ve already seen everything that life can throw my way. But here I am now, 20 years later and older, only happy and grateful to be proven wrong.

I go back to the room and I linger by the door. I hear Delphine’s sweet voice telling Lory about the pointed heart by the base of the cliff - how it stayed there, how it faded over time but continued to be an unwavering reminder of Cora and Diana’s lifelong adventure together. At this very moment, I find a definitive answer to the question I ask myself every time I wake up in the morning next to Delphine: _Is it possible to love you even more?_ And the answer is yes.

“I have a question,” Lory said when I finally entered the room and handed him his milk.

“Ask away, mon chouchou,” and Delphine scoots to make room for me to sit on the other side of the bed.

“Will Cowgirl Diana be proud of Cowgirl Cora if she couldn’t paint?” And that’s a very good question, in my opinion. Lory can be so observant and inquisitive – and those are just some of my favorite things about him. I have no doubt in my mind that this kid is going to grow up to be one heck of an interesting person.

Delphine looks at me and smiles before answering Lory’s question. “I think so, Lory,” she said. “Painter or not, Cowgirl Diana would be proud of Cowgirl Cora. She has a good heart, compassionate, and strong. She’s very pretty and she’s whip-smart. It’s easy to love her, to be proud of her.” I melt at her words and reach out to touch her hand – the one she has over Lory’s shoulder. In the many stories we have told Lory, I was not sure if he has caught on that Cora and Diana are actually his Grammie Cosima and Grand-Mère Delphine. But it really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things – I’m a happy camper for as long as he enjoys the stories.

“I agree,” Lory said looking right at me instead of Delphine, “I’m very proud of Cowgirl Cora,” and I give him a smile while I wipe the milk mustache that formed on his upper lip.

I wasn’t sure if he knew it was us - until now. And I find myself happy to be proven wrong again, because Lory knowing or even just having the slightest idea that our stories are about us matters.

\-----

If anybody saw Cosima and Lory now, nobody would believe how scared she used to be to even hold or carry him when he was a baby. I remember doing almost everything whenever I volunteered to look after him for his moms – the feeding, the nappy changes, bathing. And every time, Cosima would be in the corner - an enthusiastic onlooker who passes me a clean diaper or hands me a clean towel instead of being an active participant in child-rearing. “I don’t want to hurt him,” she said then when I tried handing Lory off to her. This went on for months and though it can be a bit irritating sometimes – especially when I’m tired from a day’s work - I didn’t really mind that I did all the babysitting.

But there was this one night when Lory cried and Cosima surprised me by volunteering to get up to check up on him. What surprised me even more was when the crying stopped and Cosima returned to bed, snuggled with me, and slept like nothing out of the ordinary happened. It wasn’t until sun up when I found out that for months, Cosima had been taking “baby care” lessons from Krystal. “She wanted to surprise you, Hon,” Krystal said as she sang Lory a lullaby. “She didn’t want you to think that she’s some kind of baby dummy.”

I don’t know if Gabi and Lyra ever sat down with Lory to tell him why he has three grandmothers and just one grandfather. I bet explaining why he has two moms is already challenging enough, and I figured that Cosima and I can explain it to him if he asks. But somehow, he never did. In some way, I think he just kind of knew that Mémé Delphine and Grammie Cosima are his grandparents who live together, who have a life together, and who love him to bits. Maybe to him, that’s all that matters – the love he feels from us doesn’t need any additional explanations.

“Another please, Mémé,” Lory said when he finished his milk and Cosima gets the mug to set it on the bedside table.

“Another glass of milk?” I asked.

“No, another story, please,” and Cosima and I exchange looks, trying to figure out if we should just grab a story book or rehash another Cora and Diana adventure.

“How about we tell you about Diana, Cora, and Orion?” And Cosima smiles as if she’s excited to tell that story again even if Lory has probably heard of it a hundred times now.

“I’ve already heard that Grammie,” Lory answered. “What else do you have?”

“Okay,” and she touches her chin as she thinks, “how about the one about Diana and Cora’s Road Trip?”

“Mémé just told me that story yesterday before I took a nap,” and Lory leans into my shoulder, fighting sleepiness in the hopes of hearing a new story, a new Cora and Diana adventure.

“The one about Cowgirl Cora’s Art Show?” And Lory shakes his head. “The one where Cowgirl Diana met Cowgirl Cora’s family?” And Lory yawns while I can see Cosima raising both hands in surrender, giving up on a new idea for a story for tonight.

“We are running out of Cowgirl Diana and Cora stories to tell,” Cosima said and I’m unsure if she was saying it to me or to herself.

“There is one more story you haven’t heard yet, mon petit prince” I said and two sets of eyes suddenly looked my way.

“There is?” Cosima mouthed and I nod.

“What story is that, Mémé?” And Lory sits up straight, preparing himself to hear a new story.

I smile and I clear my throat before speaking. “It’s a fairly new story – a new adventure, but very important. It just happened last year, just when the leaves were turning brown...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking this opportunity again to thank those who are still sticking with this story, especially to those leaving comments (I'm sorry if I reply late) and kudos. Do let me know what you think, what you like, and what you don't like. :)


	16. Epilogue: The Start of a New Story

_Early evening: August 2, 2003_

The drive from the ranch to the city and vice versa has become an ordinary part of my life in the years since I’ve moved from San Francisco. It used to be a spectacle at first, with Delphine constantly worrying that I might get lost or lose control of the car especially when it’s raining or snowing or both. She used to err on the side of caution, urging me to spend the night in the apartment in the city instead of driving home when a class doesn’t end by late afternoon – never mind if she had to be alone in the house. “I’d rather sleep alone for a night than sleep alone for the rest of my life because I lost you to something silly like a traffic accident,” she would say. I would always reply by saying she’s being too morbid before enveloping her in a hug or kissing her all over, gestures that meant to allay her worries.

That was ages ago though and it had been years since Delphine or I fussed about it. But now, as I drive back to the ranch from the gallery in the city with a couple of rings in my breast pocket, the familiar nervousness that has been shaken out of my system long ago has resettled in the pit of my stomach. It’s making my palms sweaty and my arms rigid - which make maneuvering along the twisty mountain roads more challenging. But the feel of the rings on my chest heightens the need for me to arrive at the ranch in one piece, so I fight to regain stability and control, reminding myself that I’ve traversed these roads for almost 20 years now with nary an incident; and more importantly, that I need to safely land home to the woman I’ve loved almost all my adult life - a woman who loves me as passionately as I love her.

The rings had really been a year-long project, starting even before same-sex marriage was in the realm of possibilities in British Columbia. It started four months after the BC Supreme Court initially ruled against it when a small custom jewelry store set up shop a block away from the gallery. The jeweler invited nearby business owners for the grand opening and he spoke with me about his interest to buy a few of my pieces to decorate his shop...while I was casually looking at the wedding rings on display.

“If you’re interested,” he said as he taps on the glass where the rings are securely encased, “I can give you a very good deal in exchange for some art works.” I told him I’d think about it – choosing to be coy even if I knew that I’m going to take him up on the offer anyway. Pretty soon one of his employees had discreetly dropped off several ring brochures in the gallery, and because Delphine almost caught me looking at one when she surprised me with an impromptu date in the city, I transferred all the catalogs to my office in the university. There, I can look at rings in peace or at least I would be sufficiently warned by a receptionist or a TA if someone’s coming.

The quest for the perfect wedding rings wasn’t easy and I found myself way over my head most of the time. Wanting to keep it a secret but desperately needing help, I asked Sarah for advice - but she didn’t offer much in the assistance department.

“Even if you give her a looped chicken wire,” she said over the phone when I told her, “she’ll like it.”

“You suck, you know that?” I replied then, “this is important. You gotta give me more than just wise cracks...”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Sarah said with a laugh – clearly finding delight in my plight, “I’m just saying whatever you pick, she’ll love it.” 

With Sarah being Sarah, I almost asked Krystal for help. But I know that Krystal will be Krystal - she would be physically unable to keep a secret this big from her best friend, so I went at it alone for a while. It took months of combing through every jewelry catalog imaginable when somebody finally caught me. I was passing the lull in-between classes in my office by browsing through a new ring brochure when Gabi showed up unexpectedly with two to-go cups of tea from our favorite coffee shop. I didn’t even made an effort to hide it from her because to be honest, I’m quite relieved that I would finally have someone to talk to about it.

“They’re...” Gabi started saying, pausing as she leafs through page after page of catalogs and brochures with ring designs that I’ve encircled and shortlisted, “nice, I guess. Delphine would love anything you pick anyway.”

“You guess?” I said, a bit miffed, “Sarah said the same thing you know? Come on Gabi - tell me what you really think.”

Gabi looks at the ring I encircled with black sharpie from a 2002 catalog and sighs. “I mean it though - all these,” she said as she turns the pages, “they’re all pretty if somewhat...” and she hummed as she tried to find the words to describe my ring choices, “uhmm generic.” I leaned on my chair and massaged my temples with my fingers while Gabi explains. “I’m just saying you guys have so much history – and it kinda sucks that you’re going to be getting a generic ring to celebrate that, you know?” And over tea that had gone lukewarm then cold, we tried to thresh out ideas about customizing wedding bands.

But even if the general idea is solid, it wasn’t enough to move things forward because I was still pretty overwhelmed with the many possible permutations and designs for the rings. As Gabi said, we have so much history and it’s hard to pick which among the many memories would be used to make the rings stand out. A month after Gabi found out though, a clear direction fell on my lap when a student who dabbled in metal art shared in class about a gift he plans to make for his father, a mountie who’s about to retire after 30 years of service.

“It’s a ring embedded with a piece of his first badge,” he said and his idea piqued my curiosity so I urged him to elaborate. Later that week, I ran it past my jeweler-neighbor and he said it can be done. “It’s a simple inlay, that’s easy,” he confidently remarked. “But what are you going to put in the ring?” The answer to that question came surprisingly quick and I immediately called Kira for help.

“The what, Auntie Cos?”

“The saddle I used on Twist.” Twist was the last horse I broke before I left Paradise Ranch and he’s the one I rode during the Summer of 1957. “It should be there – you can’t miss it. I etched _Twist_ on the flap. Can you look for it for me?” She said yes and when she finally found it almost three weeks later (“_I had to empty out the shed just to find it,_” she said to explain the delay), I asked her to immediately send the saddle’s stirrups to me. “Make sure to mail it to my office in campus, Monkey,” I reminded her before saying thanks.

While the saddle tree is made of yellow poplar, the stirrups were made from solid dark live oak. I replaced them myself before going to the highlands with Delphine when the original iron stirrups got corroded. I bought the pair from a travelling rodeo cowboy trying to make ends meet by working as a ranch hand for us and I figured I can use the oak to make the rings unique. With Gabi’s help, I was also able to get Delphine’s actual ring size. She casually borrowed one of her rings, making an excuse that she needs subtle pieces of jewelry for a meeting with a potential investor. “Lyra said I should ask you,” and Delphine who was probably a little confused by Gabi’s odd request handed her a simple sterling ring with a small turquoise gemstone that she usually wears while in the ranch, along with its matching necklace and earrings.

In the end, we came up with two beautiful rings – both 6 millimeters in width, made from solid platinum with dark oak wood inlays from Twist’s stirrups. They are almost identical except for the small 3 millimeter diamond inset in Delphine’s ring. “Now it tells a story - your story,” Gabi said when I first showed it to her as she examines the engraving. “They’re still so, so beautiful,” she then remarked when she asked to look at it one last time over lunch today after I told her that I’m going to pop the question to Delphine tonight.

The rings usually rest in their respective cushy boxes that I hid in the work space of my loft studio at the ranch. But in the week leading up to today, I chose to keep them close to me all the time – wanting to make sure that they’re always within my reach. I arrive at the ranch’s driveway and park the car. I sit inside for what feels like an eternity as I breathe in and out, wondering what I’m so nervous about.

“_We can legally marry now_,” I hushed. “_You’ve talked about doing this...I think it’s too late for her to turn you down..._” I said out loud, giving myself a pep talk I never knew I needed. I remind myself that what I’m really afraid of is not her rejection but her reaction. I just need her to love and gush about this ring.

I finally stepped out of the car and sling my bag on my shoulder. I stand by the door on the porch, giving my pocket one last tap to check if the rings are still in there. They jingled a little and I put in my keys to get in the house where I’m welcomed by the soft yellow light from the lamp beside the couch. It’s comfortably quiet inside as the stereo plays a familiar song whose title escapes me. I almost blurted out an excited “I’m home,” but I saw Delphine on the couch taking a nap and caught myself just in time as I walk to where she is.

I stroke her beautiful face and lightly ran my hand on her curls, marveling how the melding of blonde and platinum made her hair even more majestic. I re-adjust the throw blanket she was clutching which made her stir. She opens her eyes and smiles. “Go back to sleep,” I said and I give her a soft kiss on her temple. But making room for me has become second nature for Delphine and she moves to make space for me on the couch instead. I can never deny her so I slot myself in the cocoon she created, my back leaning on her front as she holds me in her arms.

A new song plays in the background, but I’m too wrapped up in her soothing warmth to even bother to remember who sang it. She grazes her lips on my nape and all the while I’m worried if she can feel just how fast my heart is beating. She was trying to eliminate what little space there is between us by tightening her embrace when her arm scraped my shirt’s pocket. It was a light touch, easy to disregard if only the rings tucked inside didn’t make any sound.

“What is that?” Delphine curiously asked. In the years since we’ve started living together, she knows that I barely put anything on my shirt’s breast pockets aside from forgotten pieces of paper. And while I would have wanted to offer her the rings over a candlelight dinner that I planned on making, I figured there’s no use delaying the inevitable.

I move to face her and I immediately get drawn to her lips. “I have something for you,” I said after brushing my lips on hers as my hands unbuttoned the front pocket. “I love you so much. I’ve been meaning to give this to you...” her eyes went wide at the first sight of her ring, “and ask you to marry me, Delphine.”

Now fully awake but still basking in the comfort of a warm and familiar embrace, she didn’t immediately wear the ring, choosing to examine it carefully. She ran her finger on the engraving right in the heart of the ring: two dandelions, one bloom a bit shorter than the other.

“Yes,” she said with tears in her eyes that matched the ones that have flowed from my own eyes. “Je t'aime, Cosima,” she whispered with a shy but genuine smile. “I love this ring,” she added before pressing her lips on mine and kissing me senseless.

“I also have something for you,” and she sits up and reached for her bag, but not before wearing the ring on her finger.

\----- 

“Wow Mémé,” Lory said as I hand him my wedding ring so he can examine it closely, “that is cool. And this is actual wood from your horse, Grammie?” He asked Cosima as he traces the wood in the middle of my ring with his pinkie.

“Yes,” she replied enthusiastically. “Twist was a good horse, a strong colt. It took a while to break and train him, but that’s what I really loved about him, you know? How hard he had to be convinced that you don’t mean him any harm.”

“What was he like when he was younger?” Lory asked and suddenly, it’s like I’m right back at Paradise Ranch looking from a short distance to a young Cosima as she hops aboard Twist, wanting nothing more but to be close to her then.

“He’s pretty much like Buzz...” Buzz is the pony we gave Lory for his birthday just last month. “Very energetic and loves to be on the trails,” Cosima added.

“Can I see yours, Grammie?” And Lory points to Cosima’s ring around her finger. She gives it a little twist before handing it to Lory who began appraising the ring like he’s the world’s most meticulous jeweler.

“Why does yours have more flowers?” He asked when he saw the engraving inside Cosima’s ring.

“They’re dandelion seeds, Monkey,” Cosima gently corrects. “They were originally part of the flowers in your Mémé’s ring,” and she looks at me with a shy smile – the smile she gives out whenever I tell her how much I love her. “The seeds were blown by the wind from her ring to mine. Like magic.”

“Like a play date with destiny,” Lory said, mimicking a line I heard from his favorite movies as he continues to hold on to our rings, comparing them and even trying them on. I was about to tell him that I plan on giving it to him when the time comes, but then Cosima spoke.

“There’s more to your Mémé’s story,” she said urging Lory to listen to me. “Cowgirl Diana also had a surprise for Cowgirl Cora that day.”

\-----

_Late noon: August 2, 2003_

The couch has never been more inviting as now as I unloop the light scarf around my neck and take off my thin coat. While exhausting days are common when you operate a ranch, this day is especially tiring because I had to deal with other more important matters on top of ranch duties. I needed to go for a drive to the Resort Municipality of Whistler after tending to the clinic patrons and their animals. And although it was only half an hour away from the ranch, the queue in the Permits and Licenses Office was already quite long when I got there before lunch.

While filling up a form, I kept thinking that I could have avoided the hassle of the drive and the queuing if only the office answered their phones. I planned on ordering a marriage license by calling the Vital Statistics Agency here, but every time I called, nobody picks up. “Just go there, Hon,” Krystal said when I asked her to stay on the phone for me when Scott and I were called in for an emergency at the clinic (a heifer needed immediate veterinary attention after getting stuck in barb wire). So here I am now, waiting for my number to be called with a completed form in one hand and a manila envelope filled with required documents in the other.

I check and review the requirements while waiting for my turn. Making copies of my requirements was easy – I just had to photocopy my driver’s license and my passport, and ask the lawyer we hire for ranch business to issue me an official letter verifying my identity and Cosima’s identity. Getting Cosima’s IDs and making copies of them without her noticing was a bit of a challenge though – so I asked for Krystal’s help.

“I told her that Lory’s school has this new policy that any guardian picking him up from school needs to have IDs on record,” she said when she handed me a paper with photocopies of Cosima’s Maple Leaf card and her driver’s license. “Aren’t I sly, Hon?” She said with a wink, clearly excited about her clandestine role in this surprise.

It wouldn’t really come as a surprise to Cosima, I think. Ever since the issue of same-sex marriage became prominent in the news, we talked about it - be it in passing or in a more serious manner. “The second it becomes legal,” I remember her saying over supper a few years ago as we watch the news about the ruling against it issued by the court, “I’m going to City Hall and get us all ready to get hitched. Then we will elope.” I remembered laughing and nodding at her words, but come bed time as we were lying side by side beside each other, I asked her if she’s really serious about what she said.

“As a heart attack,” she joked. “But really, I mean it.” And then she cried because she couldn’t wrap her head around the argument that the courts provided when they rejected same-sex couples seeking to get married. “Love is love,” she said in between sobs, “why would anybody go against something as simple and true as that?”

“It’s still good,” I said in an attempt to make her stop from sobbing, “that people are talking about it and considering it. Don’t worry,” and I hug her because I didn’t know what else to say, “marriage or no marriage, it’s us until the end.” It was a little white lie...because getting married to Cosima and getting all the legal rights attached to marriage matter to me.

“324, Cormier,” a young woman by a counter bellowed, getting my attention. I give her a tight smile as I hand in the form and the requirements. She examines them quickly but thoroughly before putting a stamp on the application form. “Please pay the fee in the cashier,” she said in a neutral voice, “it’ll be ready once you pay for it.” And sure enough, after handing in a $100 bill, I stepped out of city hall and got into my car with a crisp marriage license bearing the names Delphine Cormier and Cosima Niehaus. I couldn’t help but tear up a little before starting the engine. While I wanted nothing more than marry the love of my life in all the years that we’ve been together, actually being able to do it still felt emotionally overwhelming.

The information I got from the Vital Statistics Agency in Whistler shows that there are only two marriage commissioners in the Pemberton area. Cosima and I were never religious, so getting a licensed commissioner to officiate our wedding is something we’ve agreed on whenever we seriously talk about marriage. With my composure in check and with some time to spare before she gets home from the gallery, I decided to pay them a visit.

I called the first commissioner, Carol, who suggested we meet at the Pemberton Creek Community Garden. “I’m bringing my cat for a walk and will meet you there,” she said, and after less than 30 minutes of driving, we meet on a park bench. Carol is middle-aged and she was generally okay - if a bit more preoccupied with her cat, Denise, than with me. She was polite as she asked about my family and about Cosima, and she showed genuine interest in my line of work. I even offered to examine Denise who seems to be a healthy, happy, and feisty kitty. I left our meeting thinking that I wouldn’t mind her marrying us.

I almost didn’t go to see the second commissioner because she didn’t answer my numerous calls and text messages. But since the information I got states that she lives near the area, I took my chances and drove to her listed address. I walked to her front porch and saw a rainbow flag raised beside the Canadian flag, which looks promising if only she would open her door. Finally, a heavy-set woman wearing a black beret with matching black shirt and white pants steps in to the porch.

“Hey, what can I do for yah?” She asked. I said I’m looking for Michelle about the possibility of getting her to officiate a wedding.

“Guilty as charged, Ma’am,” she answered as she unlocks her door and invites me in. “My husband is at work, and I just came from marrying a nice, young couple and forgot my phone in the house,” and as she removes her beret, I can’t help but notice the purple highlights on her white hair. “So,” she said as she takes a seat on the couch and motions for me to join her in the living room, “who’s getting married?”

“I am,” I answered and showed her the newly-minted marriage license.

“Oh my,” she said as she examines the license. “You know, I married my little brother to his partner,” and she hands me back the license before pointing to a framed photograph on an end table. “They’ve been together since they were in their 20s...and I almost couldn’t finish the ceremony because I was a mess of tears and sobs...”

“Congratulations to them,” I said, unsure about what to reply and wishing that I involved Cosima in this because she’s more adept at small talk.

“It’ll be my honor,” she said, “to officiate your wedding, Ma’am.” After exchanging a little more information about her and about me and Cosima, I bid her goodbye. She urged me to get in touch so the three of us can meet and discuss the wedding and the ceremony. I start the car and gave her a friendly wave, thinking to myself that as polite as Carol was, I think Michelle is going to be our officiant.

I can no longer resist the strong pull of my couch after removing my socks and shoes. I planned on handing the license to Cosima later over mac and cheese with bacon bits, her favorite. But a nap before preparing dinner is necessary as I turn on the stereo and pop in a random CD. My last memory before dozing off is trying to remember where I put the license before giving my messenger bag a lazy but quick check to see if the manila envelope was still there.

\-----

“Michelle helped Grammie with the face-paintings during my birthday party,” Lory said and Delphine and I nodded and laughed.

“She dabbles in the arts, yes,” Delphine added, “and she got even more thrilled when she met Grammie Cos for the first time and found out she’s an actual artist.”

“She volunteers in the gallery too,” I said, “every once in a while when she has time to go to the city.”

Lory has found his second wind, judging from how he’s up and about again as if he’s ready to resume jumping on the bed. His eyes were already getting droopy in the middle of our story about Diana and Cora’s special rings so we thought that he’d be out and asleep by now.

“Do you remember our wedding?” I then asked. We are not doing a good job getting him to sleep, but he sure looks like he’s having a fun time listening to our stories.

“Yes,” he answered. “I got to wear my very own cowboy suit and my hat!” And he tips his cowboy hat to us now for emphasis.

“What else do you remember most from that day?” Delphine curiously asked our grandson. “Apart from the cowboy outfit of course...”

“I remember how excited Grandma Krystal was!” Lory answered with a chuckle.

“Ah yes...” And Delphine eyes me carefully as I reacted. “I think excited is a good word for it,” and I fix his hat so it’s less tilted.

\-----

_September 6, 2003_

With the rings and license ready to rock, Delphine and I picked a date for the wedding over dinner. “It has to be within three months from now,” she said as she explained the details of the license and the need for us to pay a visit to the person officiating our wedding who she spoke with already.

“Let’s do it next month then - September 6th,” I proposed. “That date works for you, right?”

“We’ll clear it with everybody,” Delphine answered before she reached for her cellphone to call Lyra. I was beside her during that phone call and while I could tell that Lyra was happy for us, I could also tell based on the whoops and cheers in the background that Gabi was absolutely thrilled. It wasn’t long before Delphine nodded while telling me that Lyra had no problems with the date we picked as she handed me her phone. “Gabi wants to speak with you,” she said smiling before kissing me on the cheek.

“So!?!?” Gabi screamed the minute my ear made contact with the earpiece, “Did she like it?” And I looked towards Delphine who was lovingly looking at the ring on her finger.

“She did, thank you...for everything,” I said as I watched Delphine walk to the kitchen, her eyes still fixated on the ring I designed with Gabi’s assist.

The sleep that night was peaceful, warm, and soothing - filled with prospects and plans for a honeymoon and for the dinner that we would serve for the small number of guests in the reception. We planned on spending a lazy Sunday in bed, just us snuggled together, only for me to be awakened in the morning by a banshee-like shriek. I wore my robe quickly and hurry downstairs to check what was happening. Krystal was already at the landing, making her way upstairs as a helpless Delphine tried to follow her.

“Gabi told me last night!!! Scott had to body-block me from driving here when I found out!!! The ring is so beautiful!!!” She said when she reached me and I laughed with amusement as she pulls me in for an excited hug. “I cannot wait to plan your wedding!!!” The same kind of animated shrieking paired with hurried footsteps have become commonplace in the first two weeks leading up to our chosen date as Krystal spent hours in the house showing us dresses, bringing slices of cake for sampling, and planning the menu and bringing pictures of possible plate settings.

“We just want a small, simple wedding,” Delphine sighed when Krystal brought forward the idea of wedding doves.

“Simple delicious food and never-ending drinks for everybody...all 25 guests,” I added and she pouted.

“Hey, hey,” Delphine said, “we appreciate everything you’ve been doing for us,” and Krystal sobs. “It’s just that we know what we want and we want something simple, something intimate.”

“I can do simple and intimate,” Krystal said, as she wiped the obnoxious tears and got ready to take on the challenge.

It was quieter in the last three weeks before the 6th, and that was the point where I am most thankful for Krystal’s friendship. She really went above and beyond to take care of everything – from designing the clearing near our house where we’re going to hold the ceremony to actually making my idea for an open bar work in the reception area. She made all the needed travel arrangements for my family and made sure that they have a comfortable and homey place to stay in the ranch’s compound as soon as they arrived.

Before we knew it, the day has arrived. Krystal insisted that I sleep in her house the night before because “it’s bad luck for the brides to see each other before the wedding.” In the morning, she helped me do my hair and make-up, and even warmed up to my idea to wear a maroon dress instead of a white or beige one. “Red really is your color, Hon,” she said after giving me one last look before driving to Delphine’s house with tears in her eyes. “I’m so happy you two will finally be able to have this,” she then remarked in between sobs when we arrived at the house before handing me to Sarah so she can tend to other wedding things.

Apart from telling her to come up to Canada for my wedding, I asked Sarah to walk me down the aisle when I called her about getting married. My obnoxious sister will never admit it, but I know that that warmed her heart. We were up first and as we walk towards where Michelle is standing, she couldn’t help herself from taking a shot at me.

“Well, to be honest, I never expected this day would come...” She whispered to my ear as we walk arm in arm.

“What? That two women can finally marry?” I joked.

“No, you mule,” and she smiles as she playfully roasts me, “that you would actually say to hell with it, I’m going to be happy and marry the love of my life.” And I smile, hoping that’s enough to convey how much I value her love and acceptance of who I am in all the years since making peace with each other. “You’ve come a long way from that girl with so much love to give but was too afraid to seek out that somebody who’s going to give her the same amount of love. That girl who was hiding in the ranch...”

“You’ve come a long way too, Sarah,” I replied as we take our positions in front of our family and friends.

“No need to get mushy on me now, Cos,” she playfully said as we stand next to Michelle and look at Lory walking towards us bearing the rings. I give him a wink when he reached us and he smiled.

I know I have a rebuttal for Sarah’s words which I was about to say when Lory took his seat, but all those wisecracks drifted away at the first sight of Delphine walking down the aisle with Lyra. She chose to wear a long, ecru-colored dress. It’s a simple classy look and while simple wouldn’t work for most people, Delphine isn’t most people. The simplicity of the dress highlighted her beauty – the beautiful face looking more timeless with her hair in a princess bun while a few curls casually get loose.

She smiles to our family and friends as she walks which makes her piercing eyes even more radiant. I stood there, trying to breathe and unable to wait for her to get close to me so I can drown in the kaleidoscope of her gaze. I was so floored as I watch her walk towards us that I was a little surprised when Sarah nudged me by the elbow to hand me a tissue for the tears I didn’t notice to be already falling from my eyes.

Lyra gave me a kiss on my cheeks before gently letting go of her Maman. I offer her my hand and when she held it, I feel as if I’m 24 again - coming out of the house and walking towards the barn, expecting a complicated lambing but instead getting unexpectedly lost in a flurry of emotions made possible just by sitting next to Delphine. Everything happened at god speed after that first meeting, complete with all the serendipitous tingle the circumstances of our first encounter implied. And although I knew even before the moment our lips first met that I was setting myself up for heartbreak – a heartbreak that eventually came much too soon – I always believed that I would go through it, all of it, all over again if given a chance.

The chance came years later when I least expected it, when I’ve almost given up on it. And in spite of the years spent running away - convincing myself in every new state, apartment, and lover that it just wasn’t in the cards - I still took the leap. Our reunion was a whirlwind, and while I tend to mistrust things that happen too fast, I just decided to believe that the speed of how we happened was merely the universe’s way of making up for lost time, a course-correcting move to finally fulfill the terms of destiny.

I’ve ridden the whirlwind of our second chance since that day in my San Francisco studio - all the while expecting whiplash, vertigo, or motion sickness to kick in - but instead being constantly surprised by the low, soothing hum of everyday euphoria. The euphoria that is now punctuated by the sight of Delphine beside me, as we each say _I do_ to finally formalize a union that I believe to be written in the stars.

“I believe the couple has elected to write their own vows,” Michelle said. “Cosima...” and she gestures for me to go first.

“Delphine Cormier,” I began, trying not to second-guess my decision to speak from the heart instead of writing down a speech. “I badly wanted to marry you on this day in front of our nearest and dearest...on the day when we came down from the highlands 46 years ago. For the longest time, even when I didn’t want to admit it to myself, the 6th of September is a day of mourning for me. It was the day I lost you, the day when I really thought that love wasn’t meant for me.” And Delphine holds my hands tighter to make me remember that the pain is behind us now. “The days between September 6, 1957 and October 31, 1983 weren’t easy - it was a long road and there were many times when I’ve given up on you and the possibility of us. So I wanted to marry you on this day not only because I want a happier memory for September 6th, but also because I want to make peace with everything that we’ve been through; because through it all, you were always with me - you never really left. What these past 20 years with you have taught me is that for as long as I have you by my side, for as long as I get to hold your hand at the end of the day, the world can do its worst and we will still thrive. I love you so much and I want nothing more in this world but to be your wife...”

And then she kissed me, our lips getting wet with our tears. At that moment, my heart overflows with copious amounts of happiness and peace that I never knew I have in me. We came up for air by holding each other in a loving embrace and when I opened my eyes, I see Lyra wiping tears from her cheeks and giving me a proud, encouraging smile.

Delphine lets me go to begin saying her vows. “Cosima Niehaus... I never expected you.” And she ran her fingers on my lips. “Before there was even a glimmer of us, I asked when your birthday was. Do you remember that?” And I nod. “It may seem like a simple question with a simple answer then, but little did I know that I was actually making a rendezvous with a ghost of a chance – that the reason why I asked is because I wanted that day in my sights, in my future. I wanted to be around when March 9th comes around. And for years, while March 9th is one of the happiest days of my life, there is a part of me that aches, that yearns for you. 26 years after our summer I finally made it...” She cries softly and all I can do is hold her close. “And now we finally made it...and we’ll keep making it from here on. Je t'aime, Cosima – the artist of my dreams, my best friend, my plus-one for life... Every day since that first day has been nothing short of magical.” 

The ceremony was a blur after we said our vows. Everything was out of focus and all I could see clearly is Delphine. But I remember re-wearing the rings we took off the night before. I remember Michelle pronouncing us duly married. And I vividly remember our first kiss as a married couple, with everybody clapping and Sarah hollering for us to get a room.

To say that it was the best day is an understatement.

\----

“I remember the tub in the lawn,” Lory said in between yawns and Cosima nods. It was her idea to fill a clawfoot tub with ice and drinks for the reception, and she made sure that there was a steady supply of Lory’s favorite chocolate drink in that tub that night.

“Do you remember how many bottles of chocolate you drank, mon chouchou?” I asked and Lory slid into his blanket and pulled it to cover his entire body.

“A lot,” he answered mid-yawn before closing his eyes and finally going to sleep. Cosima is right – what goes up must eventually come down.

“Good night, mon petit ange,” and I give him a kiss on the forehead. Cosima kisses him good night too before we quietly slipped out of his room, making sure to leave his nightlight on.

We walk hand in hand towards our bedroom down the hallway to get ready for bed. Once inside, we wordlessly wash ourselves, slip into our sleeping clothes, and brush our teeth. Cosima got to the bed first and just as I was getting out of the bathroom, I saw her taking a look at our wedding photo on the bedside table. We got a talented local photographer to take pictures during that day, but the photo we decided to put inside our bedroom is a candid shot from one of the instant cameras we handed out to our family and friends. We don't even know who took it but from the empty plates around us, we knew that the picture was taken after the dinner reception. We were sitting by the table and we weren't looking at the camera because our gaze was focused on our entwined hands and the matching rings adorning our fingers. Cosima has a shy smile on her face, partially hidden because she was leaning on my shoulder. From the photo, it looks like I'm pressing a soft kiss on the top of her head. We cried the first time we saw this photo - finding it hard to believe how far we've come. One look at the picture and we knew that this is the photo we want to see every night before going to bed. 

It was chilly and snowy tonight - "perfect for cuddles and embraces," Cosima would always say. And she's probably thinking those thoughts as she returns the photo on the table, lies down, and pats the left side of the bed so I can cuddle her. “Good night, mon cœur,” I whispered when I came to bed to hold her. I thought she was already asleep because it took a while before she replied.

“Thank you,” she said as she holds my arms to tighten my embrace around her.

“What for?” I asked a bit perplexed.

“For telling our story to Lory,” she answered sleepily, “for making sure we have stories to tell together. And for marrying me and taking my last name...”

Cosima never did pressure me to take her last name. “I know how much Cormier means to you – it’s your only connection to your Maman. It meant you were hers,” she said weeks before the wedding. I had every intention of keeping my last name but the night before the wedding, I had a dream - a vivid vision my subconscious often conjured when I was younger. It was of a lush meadow under the bluest sky. I was walking on the fields of green and a gentle breeze softly blows making the tall grass around me dance gracefully. I was touching the grass, trying to sway to its rhythm, and then I looked forward – and from a short distance I saw my Maman walking towards me.

The lasting image I have of my Maman is that of a frail, middle-aged woman, grasping at the remaining days of her life, not wanting to let go just yet but unable to fight the sickness any longer. The Maman before me in the dream is the Maman I’ve loved and missed – vibrant, full of life, happy, and dressed in her Sunday best. Somehow, seeing her like this made me feel guilty, ashamed even, for I am unable to answer the simple question that played in my mind as she walks: _Had she been alive, would I have had the strength to tell her that I’ve fallen completely in love with Cosima?_

“Delphine,” and Maman cupped my face when I refused to look at her. “Je suis fier de toi,” she said and I cried. “Are you happy?” She asked me as she strokes my face and tuck some of my loose hair behind my ears.

“Oui, Maman,” and she pulls me in for a loving embrace.

“I know you are. And that's why I’m happy. Your happiness is my own, ma fille chérie. Your happiness is my own...Remember that and you will never forget me.”

I woke up on my wedding day with the simple realization that while I will always hold on to Cormier and to my connection to my Maman, I also need to hold on to the person who makes me happy; who is also responsible for Maman’s happiness. Taking Cosima's last name is more than just a manifestation of our union - it is a remembrance of my Maman's words, a remembrance of the lessons she has taught me. 

“I can thank you for all the same things, you know,” I say to Cosima now before kissing her on her shoulder.

“Je t'aime, Delphine Cormier-Niehaus.”

“I love you too, Cosima Cormier-Niehaus.”

And with those sweet words on our lips, the world floats away as we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around for this story. It wasn’t easy for me to write, but reading your comments week after week has given me the additional motivation to keep this story going until the end. I have some more stories up my sleeve and I hope you’d all join me when that comes out (whenever that may be, although I hope to start writing it soon). But for now, I would like to give my biggest thanks to everybody who's reading this, leaving comments, and/or kudos. 
> 
> Again, huge thanks to tumblweed for Transhumance. Years have passed and it’s still an awesome story. I could only hope this (and the other fic) did it justice. For the last time (at least in this fic), let me know what works for you and what you think. :)


End file.
